


The First Rule of Film Club

by DrSallySparrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas fic, F/F, F/M, First Time, Hansy - Freeform, M/M, Multi, NottGrass, Nottpott, Theo is a Little Shit, dramione - Freeform, harry is ridiculous, holiday fic, i thought i should probably flag that it's dramione though, i will update pairings as we go, nerds being nerds, they watch films but it's not based on the films, this is just me being silly but i hope you like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrSallySparrow/pseuds/DrSallySparrow
Summary: It's the first Christmas after the War, and Harry and Hermione are back at Hogwarts. When they decide to watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' in the Room of Requirement, little do they know what's to follow. Twelve days of holiday fun, to be precise. Please come and be excited with me!





	1. It's A Wonderful Life

_“Twas the night after Christmas, and all through the school, not a creature was stirring, not even a ghoul -_ ”

“Actually there hasn’t been a ghoul at Hogwarts since the Great Expunction of seventeen - right,” Hermione says, flushing faintly as Harry‘s eyebrows appear above his glasses. “Shut up, I know.”

“You don’t need to shut up,” he smiles. “Just, it maybe isn’t the most -”

“Seventeen-thirty-four,” says a voice. “But that’s an incredibly dull conversation piece, Granger.”

Both of them jump as a dark figure emerges from the other end of the corridor, and Hermione knows that her face betrays her dismay when Theodore Nott steps into the pool of light thrown out by the nearest torch.

She doesn’t need to look at Harry to feel his scowl radiating towards Nott, who is smirking horribly at the pair of them as he leans against the wall, apparently nonchalant.

“Now what,” he says quietly, making a show of widening his eyes at the pair of them, “might Golden Girl and Golden Bollocks be doing wondering these hallowed halls in the middle of the night?”

“You’ve never even _seen_ my balls, Nott,” Harry says, and for a second Hermione is speechless with disbelief that that’s his chosen comeback. Nott just stares at him for a moment, before he abruptly starts to laugh.

It seems to take all three of them by surprise - the bright, noisy sound of it - and Nott actually claps a hand over his own mouth, though in the low light Hermione can see that his eyes are still dancing. She feels her own lips twitch in response, and who would have thought Draco Malfoy’s best friend might have an infectious laugh?

“Fuck you,” Harry responds, though it lacks venom. Sounds suspiciously warm, in fact. Nott’s hazel eyes narrow, and when he drops his hand he’s still smiling.

“You haven’t answered my question, Potter.”

“We’re not doing anything,” Hermione says quickly and, she immediately realises, guiltily. But why shouldn’t she be? After all, it’s after midnight; Christmas Day bleeding into Boxing Day; and even if they _are_ honorary seventh years they have no business being out of bed. Even so, Harry casts her an incredulous look, and her cheeks redden as Nott raises a single eyebrow.

“How believable,” he drawls, stepping forward and then deftly snatching the VHS box from her hands. “ _It’s A Wonderful Life_ ,” he reads, his other eyebrow climbing to meet its pair. “What the actual -“

“It’s a muggle film,” Harry says, his tone hovering somewhere between petulant, defensive, and amused. “Hermione always used to watch it with her parents, so we thought we’d -“

“Harry what the _fuck -_ “ Hermione hisses out of the side of her mouth, but to her surprise Nott hands the box back to her, nodding amiably.

“I can respect a tradition,” he says. His eyes gleam in the torchlight, and Hermione finds she can’t name his expression. It doesn’t matter though; he’s looking at Harry.

“Well then,” she says, half-surprised when her voice emerges as a squeak. “We’ll just be go-“

“What are _you_ doing here, Nott?” Harry asks. The question carries more curiosity than challenge, but Nott’s eyes glitter again and his smile turns hard.

“Ate too much at Christmas dinner,” he says smoothly. “Thought a walk would help with the indigestion.”

Hermione gives an involuntary wince. Christmas dinner had been a poorly-concealed fiasco. McGonagall had solved the problem of where the forcibly-returned Slytherins should sit on the large communal table by designing a seating plan seemingly far more sadistic than anything ever dreamed up by the Carrows.

Hermione had been nominally in support of the move, but the wave of relief that she’d felt when Harry had also opted to stay at school for the holidays had been telling. They’d both gently refused Molly’s entreaties in favour of helping McGonagall’s attempt to bring together war orphans and students whose parents were “unavoidably detained.”

She can still feel the patch on her outer arm where Malfoy’s elbow had brushed against hers repeatedly, despite mutually unsubtle attempts to shift their chairs apart.

Harry tips his head thoughtfully. “Who were you sitting next to?”

Nott meets his gaze, and his eyes narrow again. “Boot,” he says flatly. “And Macmillan.”

“Shit.” Harry nods sympathetically. “That can’t have been much fun.”

“Fortunately my expectations were none too high.”

Nott’s mouth twists, and Hermione still can’t read the expression; doesn’t know him well enough to understand the subtleties expressed in the corners of his lips.

He folds his arms as she watches, and there’s a slight pause. It seems to Hermione that they’re all trying to ignore the fact that they’re standing outside the blank patch of wall that hides the entrance to the Room of Requirement.

“So...” Harry says eventually, and Hermione, filled with an awful premonition of what he’s about to ask, feels a protest rising up in her throat, but she’s too late.

“Do you want to join us?”

**oOo**

 

Nott watches the film closely, seeming utterly engrossed. He sneers at the popcorn that Harry and Hermione pass to him, but he’s soon nibbling quietly away at it, his eyes barely leaving the huge screen that the Room has seen fit to erect across an entire wall.

Hermione finds that easily half of her attention is taken up by monitoring Nott’s reaction to the film. It’s such a vastly different experience to watching a film with her parents, or even with Harry and Ron. Nott asks no questions about muggle etiquette; in fact, he seems to accept the film’s premise without any hesitation after just a brief perusal of the synopsis on the case.

His eyes are fixed to the screen, mouth occasionally quirking into or smile, or brows into a frown, and every so often he laughs that same warm laugh that had been so surprising in the corridor. When Jimmy Stewart throws his arm around Donna Reed, Zuzu clinging around his neck, Hermione could swear that she sees Nott’s hand flick towards his eyes.

After two hours the film comes to an end and the lights come up in the Room. Nott has steepled his fingers in front of his smile, and he blinks in surprise against the sudden brightness.

“Well,” he says slowly. “That was certainly not how I expected to spend my evening.”

“It’s great though, right?” Hermione finds herself saying, unexpectedly eager to hear what he thinks.

Nott doesn’t answer straight away, pushing himself out of his squidgy armchair and rolling his neck. “Not terrible, Granger, I’ll give you that.”

She doesn’t know what makes her do it. The flash of sorrow on his face as he glances towards the door perhaps; or maybe just something to do with the fact that she’s spent the whole day being effortfully jolly and inclusive.

“We were going to watch another tomorrow.”

Nott’s hand is on the doorhandle, but he stops, looking back at her over his shoulder. “Another?”

“Hermione’s got a shitload of muggle videos,” Harry grins. “Packed them all up when she -”

“Yes, anyway.” Hermione cuts him off more successfully this time. “We thought we’d watch one a night for the rest of the holiday, sort of -”

“Sort of like a film club,” Harry says.

“With two members?” Nott’s eyebrow is once again inching its way up his forehead.

“Three, if you join,” Harry shrugs. Hermione glances over at him to see that he’s levelling a look at Nott which turns the words into more of a dare than an invitation.

“Mmm,” Nott hums noncommittally, before opening the door and starting to step out. “Same time?”

“Stroke of midnight,” Harry says as they follow him into the deserted corridor. “But if you tell the teachers -”

“I’m not _twelve_ ,” Nott sighs. He seems to shrink into himself slightly as he walks off in the other direction, towards the seemingly endless spiral staircase that will take him back to the Slytherin dungeons.

“Is that a yes?” Harry yells, and Nott waves a hand without looking round.

“Maybe!”

Harry and Hermione look at one another and shrug, starting to make their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

“Hey!”

They both turn to look back along the corridor, to where Nott has paused at the same corner he appeared around, hours earlier.

“Merry Christmas, Mr Potter!” His impersonation of George Bailey is terrible, but his grin is wide and real, before he cuts his gaze to Hermione and it drops into a smirk. “Merry Christmas you wonderful old Building and Loan!” he calls, as he rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

For a moment neither Hermione nor Harry says a word, and then she starts to splutter indignantly. “Did he just -”

“Shut up, Building and Loan,” Harry grins, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and dragging her down the corridor. “We need to decide on a film to watch tomorrow.”


	2. Home Alone

“What, did you two fuck or something?”

Ginny plonks herself down at the other end of the sofa from Hermione, who jumps at her unexpected presence.

“No!” she says quickly, exchanging a guilty look with Harry. “We just watched a film and -“

“Oh, right. So _that’s_ why you’re sat here in tense silence.”

The truth of it is that it’s eleven at night, and after a day of mooching around the common room neither of them seems to want to voice the question: is Nott going to be waiting outside the Room this evening?

“Don’t worry, Gin,” Harry says, turning his attention back to the Wizarding Chess set he’s been poking around the board for the last hour and a half. “You’re still the only one to have had the pleasure.”

“Lucky me,” Ginny smirks, flopping sideways so that her bright hair spills over the arm of the sofa. “Obviously it’s no reflection on your prowess that I broke up with you soon after.”

“That was mutual,” Harry corrects her without even looking up. “And I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”

Hermione catches sight of Ginny’s grin and decides to derail her before she can persist in needling Harry.

“We weren’t expecting you back so soon..?” she says, letting her voice trail away in the hope that Ginny will take the opening. She’s rewarded by Ginny’s freckled nose wrinkling with distaste.

“Mum was a state. She should’ve accepted McGonagall’s invitation to have Christmas here rather than trying to ‘make the best of things’.”

Hermione, unaware that such an offer had been made, tries to hide her surprise. Ginny’s eyeroll tells her that she hasn’t been successful. “You two refusing to come to The Burrow didn’t exactly help,” she says, her tone betraying the fact that she’s on half-joking.

“We were needed here,” Harry says before Hermione can. “Your mum has enough on her plate without worrying about us -“

“Bullshit, Harry Potter.”

“- and _besides_ ,” Harry presses on as though Ginny hasn’t spoken. “McGonagall could use all the help she could get to minimise the possibility of someone being murdered at the dinner table.”

“Oof,” Ginny winces. “On a scale from one to Voldemort..?”

“Hermione had to sit next to _Malfoy_ ,” Harry says, voice dripping with disdain. “I thought we were going to have to confiscate the cutlery.”

“Back to watching over him obsessively, are you?” Ginny smirks. “Hermione, is it possible to hate-fuck when it’s only eyes or is Harry doing it wrong?”

Harry mutters something indistinct but likely rude, and Hermione tries to fight the blush that has raced to her cheeks as she recalls Malfoy’s hand accidentally brushing hers when they’d both reached for the salt. Her stomach had clenched so hard she’d thought she might throw up, and he’d actually frozen in horror.

It had been a uniquely terrible moment, and it had burned itself into her memory.

“I, um, I don’t think… that is, I wouldn’t -“

“Bloody hell,” Ginny says, pushing herself up on her elbows to send Hermione a grimace of sympathy. “That bad?”

“You know Malfoy,” Hermione says faintly.

“Gross,” Ginny nods. “Anyway, what have you been up to today?” She frowns, glancing towards the large clock on the wall above the fireplace. “And how come you’re still up?”

By any estimate they’ve done almost nothing: laying around the tower all day reading books (Hermione) and faffing with brooms or board games (Harry). They’ve only left the room for a single foray to the kitchens to pilfer leftover turkey sandwiches and a gigantic slab of Christmas cake. The elves had reacted to Harry’s presence with barely-suppressed jubilation, even willing to put up with the dreaded founder of S.P.E.W. if it meant they could ply the Chosen One with treacle tart.

“We -” Hermione starts to say, but she’s too late.

“We were going to watch a film in the Room of Requirement, if you want to come,” Harry says absently. He’s busy nudging on of his knights into a horrifically vulnerable position on the board, and so misses the look of horror that Hermione sends in his direction when he extends an impromptu invitation for the second time in as many days.

“A muggle film?” Ginny asks, picking at a hangnail. Hermione finds herself hoping that her disinterest is enough that she won’t -

“ _Home Alone_ ,” Harry says. “The one where the kid sets up all the traps for the burglars. We thought it would properly fuck with Nott if he did -“

“Excuse me,” Ginny interrupts. “What the fuck did you just say?”

 

**oOo**

 

“I still can’t bloody believe that you’d invite _Nott_ to -“

“I’m sorry,” says a silky voice as they emerge from behind a tapestry onto the seventh-floor landing. “But what the fuck is _she_ doing here?”

“Funny,” Ginny says, folding her arms and glaring at Nott where he lounges against the blank wall that conceals the entrance to the Room. “That’s almost exactly what I said when I heard _you_ were part of this little film club.”

“Goodness.” Nott straightens up to his full height, which would be imposing if he wasn’t as thin as a rake. “I guess we’ve got a great deal in common.”

“Look, it’s not as though Film Club has rules, so -” Harry quiets abruptly when Nott waves a languid hand at him, and Hermione catches herself wishing that she could master this particular skill with such apparent ease.

“I propose the first rule be that we don’t talk about Film Club,” Nott says quietly, meeting Ginny’s challenging gaze with his steady hazel stare.

After a moment she sniffs and tosses her hair, making a show of studying her nails. “Fine by me.”

Harry catches Hermione’s eye, and shrugs. “That was surprisingly painless,” he murmurs in her ear, before marching forward to begin the triple pass of the corridor that will open the door to the Room.

Once they’re inside Hermione sits down quickly, glad that the Room has seen fit to provide the same squishy leather armchairs as the day before. She watches from the corner of her eye as Nott and Ginny select chairs on opposite sides of the room and settle in, pointedly ignoring one another as Harry shuffles forwards on his knees to insert the tape into the mysteriously unbranded VHS player.

“May I ask what the premise of this evening’s entertainment is?” Nott asks, immediately before he stuffs an entire handful of popcorn into his mouth.

For someone who had reacted with unabashed disdain when Harry had first offered him the snack yesterday, Nott’s certainly developed a taste for it very quickly.

“Erm.” Hermione frowns, trying to summarise it in a wizarding-appropriate manner. “So it’s called _Home Alone_ , and essentially, ah, a boy accidentally gets left at home on his own by his family, and, er, then a couple of idiots try to burgle the place, and he, um, lays traps to defend the house.” She turns to smile at Theo, and catches a flicker of something raw before his face shutters.

“Ah,” he says, as he turns his attention to the screen. “Sounds uncannily like my childhood.”

 

**oOo**

 

“Hmm.”

At some point during the film Ginny has twisted in her chair so that her legs are slung over the backrest and her head hangs upside down from the seat cushion, hair pooling on the floor. Even at this angle it’s clear that her expression is one of deep thought. “How easy is it to get hold of a tarantula? Do lots of muggles have them?”

“Oh god,” Hermione says faintly, but the others ignore her.

“I like the _trip-wires_ ,” Nott says, pronouncing the words with deliberate care. “Am I right in thinking they wouldn’t show up if one were to sweep for wards?”

“Yep,” Harry nods, and Nott sits back in his chair, nodding slowly.

“I might need to have a word with my elves.”

“It’s not supposed to be _instructional!_ ” Hermione half-yells, but her outburst is met by three expressions of sly amusement.

“I can’t help thinking how much more fun it might have been to booby-trap the school,” Harry sighs wistfully. “Can you imagine Voldemort covered in chicken feathers?

Hermione and Ginny both dart nervous glances towards Nott, but his mouth is a wicked curve. “Frankly I think it would have been an improvement,” he sighs airily.

Ginny makes a very unladylike snorting noise, and Hermione giggles, and suddenly the four of them are laughing: breathless, semi-hysterical laughter that leaves their stomachs aching and tears threatening to spill down their cheeks.

“Bloody hell, Nott,” Ginny gasps out. “Who’d have thought you’d have a sense of humour?”

“I apologise for the unexpected revelation,” Nott says. He smiles again, more softly this time, and then abruptly rises from his chair. “Much as I would love to stay longer, I’m afraid I should be getting back to my common room. Ladies,” he inclines his head towards Hermione, who blinks in surprise, and Ginny, who gives him a little wave from her position halfway towards the floor. “Speccy twats,” he grins at Harry, who cheerfully offers up a one-fingered salute.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Oh I would expect so,” Nott says. As last night, he lingers for a moment before opening the door. “Well,” he starts, and then gives a little shake of his head, “I guess go easy on the Pepsi!”

Before the others can reply he’s gone, the door snicking closed behind him.

“He’s weird,” Ginny says into the ensuing silence. She’s still sitting upside down. “I like him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few films in the line-up but if you have a particular favourite christmas movie (pre-1998) then by all means let me know if you would like to see it featured!


	3. Se7en

After a second late night in a row, Hermione isn’t too pleased when Ginny wrenches the curtains open at nine in the morning and unceremoniously rips back the bedclothes.

“Why do you hate me?” Hermione moans plaintively, trying to turn her face into the comforting darkness of the pillow. 

“This is for your own good,” Ginny assures her, her voice far too buoyant for someone who didn't go to bed until 3am. When Hermione opens her eyes it is to find Ginny’s face entirely too close to her own, brown eyes wide and brimming with almost manic energy.

Hermione jumps and scrambles backwards, nearly falling off the bed. She knows that Ginny is an irrepressible morning person, but she finds herself both glad that she’s never been subjected to this side of her personality with quite such singular fervour before, and rueful that it’s happening now.

“We’re going for a walk in the grounds,” Ginny says, tossing a pair of jeans and a thick jumper at Hermione before turning back to rummage further in her drawer, producing a pair of woollen socks. “Fresh air!” she crows. “You spend too long with your nose in your books!”

As Hermione dresses obediently, Ginny stands by the door, tapping her foot impatiently and humming something so thoroughly out of tune that it takes Hermione a while to realise that it’s a Celestina Warbeck ballad that has always been a favourite of Molly’s. When she tugs the jumper over her head Ginny gives an exaggerated sigh. “ _Finally_.” Hermione barely has time to shove her feet into boots before she’s being pulled out of the door and down the stairs to the common room.

“Why the hurry?” she asks, barely stifling a yawn, but Ginny just shrugs and chivvies her through the portrait hole. They both ignore the Fat Lady’s demand to know where they were until three in the morning - “ _I won’t stand for you leading that nice Potter boy astray_!” - and Hermione follows Ginny all the way down to the Entrance Hall, where she is permitted, after some wheedling, to duck into the Great Hall and grab a croissant and some coffee from the laden breakfast platters that are set out, buffet-style, on one side of the room.

Though it’s only a quick foray, it isn't difficult to spot Nott sat in a corner with Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson. Hermione’s only defence for what happens next is that she’s sleep-deprived, because she can think of no other reason as to why she would be so stupid as to raise her hand and wave cheerfully at Nott.

Malfoy stares at her as though she’s just grown a second head, before whipping around to look at Nott, who for his part looks as though he’s just swallowed his tongue. On his other side Daphne’s face creases into a pained expression before she glances away, and Pansy sets her jaw and levels a glare at Hermione.

If looks could kill, she’d be on the floor.

“Hermione?” Ginny comes bounding in behind her. “What’s taking so - oh.”

She seems to have taken in the situation at a brief glance, eyes flicking back and forth between Hermione, who is stood there like an lemon with her hand still upheld, frozen in the idiotic act of waving, and the little huddle of Slytherins. “Bugger,” Ginny says quietly, before she snatches Hermione’s hand from the air and starts to pull her out of the room. Hermione looks back just in time to see Nott flushing dark red before she’s being pulled out of the main doors, nearly tripping over her feet as Ginny hustles them down the steps.

Once they’re outside Ginny slows her pace to more of a mooch, accepting the croissant Hermione passes her with a nod of thanks. She doesn't say anything about what just happened, and suddenly Hermione isn’t tempted to break the silence. She hasn’t been outside since Christmas morning, when she, Harry, and a few younger Gryffindors had spent a couple of hours playing in the fresh snow before Christmas lunch.

More snow has fallen in the intervening two days, and now you can barely see where they dug out freezing handfuls to make snowballs. The low sun turns the frosted surface to sparkling glitter, and by wordless agreement the pair of them walk in the direction of the lake, breath turning to steam on the frigid air.

Ginny’s humming again, and for a while Hermione is happy to listen to it as they slowly walk along the frozen shoreline. Eventually, though, she knows she has to say something.

“Do you think Nott will ever forgive me?”

Ginny gives one of her little snorts of laughter, and kicks at the snow so that it plumes up in front of her. “I somehow don’t think that Nott’s the one you need to worry about.”

Hermione chews her lip. “I don’t think Malfoy would risk -” 

“Oh no,” Ginny grins. “I’m not talking about Malfoy. Did you not see the look that Parkinson gave you?”

The memory of the almost visceral sting of Pansy’s glare is enough to make Hermione shudder. “I don’t see what she’s got to be so cross about though, it isn’t as though I’ve -”

“Granger!”

As though summoned up like a malevolent spirit, Pansy appears, stalking behind them. She’s dressed in an elegant coat of rich emerald green that brings out the faintly golden undertone in her pale skin, but her face is twisted into an expression of such deep loathing that any flattering effect is entirely ruined.

“Fuck off, Weasley,” Pansy says dismissively once she draws level with the pair of them. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Actually I think I might -”

“Stop being a stubborn cunt and let me talk to Granger.”

Ginny bridles at the insult, delivered so flatly that it seems to have acquired an extra sting. “Fine,” she spits. “I’ll be right over there,” she says to Hermione in an undertone, squeezing her arm before she strides away in the direction of the Quidditch pitch.

Hermione turns to glare at Pansy. “Was that actually necessary or do you just -”

“Spare me the self-righteous bitching,” Pansy says. Her hands are in her pockets and Hermione can’t help feeling a prickle of trepidation as she realises how easy it would be for the other woman to draw a wand on her. “I want to know what the fuck is going on between you and my best friend’s boyfriend.”

For a moment Hermione is so surprised that she just gapes stupidly at Pansy, until the other girl gestures impatiently and she swallows her shock. “Nott and Daphne are a couple?”

“ _Obviously._ ” Pansy rolls her eyes before resuming her death-glare. “I take it that it’s you he’s been sneaking off to see the past few -”

“Harry too,” Hermione says, before wondering whether it might just be better for everyone if she were simply to stun herself there and then.

Pansy seems momentarily nonplussed by this new revelation, before sketching a vague triangular gesture in the air. “The three of you…” she says slowly.

“Not like that!” Hermione squeaks. “Ginny was there too yesterday, only we said we wouldn’t - I don’t - it wouldn’t be -”

“What, is your depraved little Gryffindor sex club sworn to secrecy?”

“It’s not a _sex_ thing!” Hermione hisses. “Look, I’m guessing you’re asking me because Nott wouldn’t tell you, so just - just come along with him to the Room of Requirement at midnight tonight, alright?”

Pansy hesitates for a moment, her lip curling, then turns smartly on her heel to flounce back towards the school. “Fine!” she calls back. “Midnight it is!”

“Oh my god,” Hermione says faintly to herself. She hears the crunch of footsteps behind her, and turns to meet Ginny’s look of total disbelief.

“Have you been confunded? Did you just invite _Pansy Park-“_

“Don’t say it,” Hermione whispers. “Maybe if you don’t say it, it didn’t happen.”

“Too late for that,” Ginny says, eyeing Pansy’s retreating figure. Unexpectedly, her face breaks into a wide smile.

“What?” Hermione asks, her stomach plummeting with dread.

“ _You’re_ going to have to tell Harry,” Ginny smirks.

**oOo**

 

“Would it have been so difficult to Obliviate her?” Harry is still asking as they climb the stairs to the seventh floor. “I mean, really, could you not have just -“

“Oh Harry, you know I couldn’t,” Hermione sighs. “For one thing it’s not that easy to just _Obliviate_ someone, and anyway,” she says, struck by sudden inspiration, “don’t you think it only fair that Nott should be able to bring some of his friends along?"

“ _Why_ would I think that when his _friends_ include Pansy fucking -“

“Hello to you too, Potter.” Pansy’s tone is acid. She’s stood in the middle of the corridor, arms tightly folded, her face pinched and disapproving. Hovering just behind her shoulder, Nott’s face is inscrutable, half-hidden in shadow.

“Parkinson.” Harry’s voice is practically a snarl, his tone serving Hermione with an uncomfortable reminder of the vile mood he had been in for pretty much the entirety of the summer before fifth year. “How fucking _delightful_ to have you join us.”

“Trust me,” Pansy sneers, “I’m just as thrilled as you are.” Her gaze flicks down to Harry’s hand. “What’s in the box?”

Harry’s answering grin is savage as he moves his hand to reveal Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman’s faces glowering out at all of them. “Funny you should ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So not so much of the film in this one, but they will discuss it in the next chapter. I might start adding more characters at once. Or I might not. Can't decide. Who do you think will be the next to join?


	4. The Great Escape

As the credits roll on _Se7en_ there’s a stunned silence in the Room of Requirement. Hermione shifts uncomfortably in her seat, not really wanting to be the first to speak, and yet feeling that somebody should say _something_.

“So..”

“Potter, what the _shit_?”

Pansy pushes herself forward to perch on the edge of her seat, planting her stiletto-shod feet on the floor and leaning forward to fix Harry with her singularly ferocious glare.

“Didn’t you enjoy it?” Harry asks, blinking innocently at her.

“Is that what qualifies as _holiday entertainment_ for muggles?”

“What, not as much fun as watching them be tortured for sport?”

Pansy reels back as though he’s slapped her, her face draining of colour. “Is that what you think I -”

“Tell me I’m wrong.” Suddenly, Harry’s out of his seat, face contorted with fury. “You’d have given me up in a heartbeat if you thought it would save your own skin, and you want me to think a _film_ has offended your precious -"

“That film was _horrible_ , Potter, what that John Doe man was doing was - was _vile_ , and evil and -”

“ _SO WAS VOLDEMORT!”_

Hermione jumps as Harry’s voice abruptly jumps in volume. She’s hardly ever seen this expression on his face: hard, challenging. It’s the way he looks on the rare occasions when he and Ron truly fight, and she feels a whisper of real trepidation. Maybe she shouldn’t have -

“And you think I’m just like him then?” Pansy’s on her feet too, her dark blue eyes glittering as she squares up to Harry, chin tipped upwards to look him in the eye. “You think I’m evil, do you Potter, because I was brought up to believed the things my parents brought me up to? Because I cared more about _my friends_ than I did about some scruffy little orphan _twat_ who didn’t give two fucks about -”

“What did you call me?” Harry growls, grabbing Pansy’s wrist where she’s fisted her hand in the front of his jumper.

“I called you a SCRUFFY LITTLE -”

“ _Oh_ ,” Ginny exhales softly from behind Hermione, as Harry and Pansy continue to scream at one another, now almost nose-to-nose, and then abruptly Nott’s out of his chair and has a hand on Hermione’s arm. Before she really knows what’s going on, she finds herself being bundled out of the room.

“Nott, get _off_ me, we can’t just leave -”

“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Nott says, smoothing his button-down where it’s been wrinkled during the course of their hasty retreat. He cocks his head and gives Hermione a considering look. “Were you planning this, when you invited her?”

“Was I planning _what?_ ”

“Of course she wasn’t,” Ginny scoffs, closing the door gently behind her. “Do you think she’d have let Harry stick that film on if she had been?”

“Good point,” Nott grimaces. “I have to say, Granger, that was a spectacularly gruesome couple of hours.” He does look a little pale, even under the hallway torchlight. “Are all the films we watch going to be like that now, because I have to say I preferred the first -”

“No, they’re not.” Hermione closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “I think Harry just picked the most off-putting thing he could find because he was so cross with me for inviting Pansy.” She sighs, shoulders drooping. “I guess that worked, so much for inter-house unity -”

“Granger.” Nott’s voice sounds odd, and when she glances up at him questioningly he’s looking at her with the strangest expression, almost as though she’s said something completely idiotic.

“What?” Hermione asks.

“Godric and Merlin.” Ginny slings an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, letting her momentum spin the pair of them around to face the direction of Gryffindor Tower. “For someone so smart, you’re also ridiculously thick. We’ll see you tomorrow Nott,” she yells over her shoulder. “I promise to make her pick a good one, if you want to bring Greengrass.”

“Right you are,” Nott calls back, before he disappears.

“Hold on,” Hermione says, trying to dig her heels in as Ginny tows her away. “Shouldn’t we wait for Harry?”

Ginny looks at her, disbelief writ large across her face. “Please tell me you’re joking?”

 

**oOo**

 

Hermione doesn’t want to believe it, but when Harry still hasn’t reappeared by dinnertime she has to admit that maybe Ginny isn’t kidding.

“But I don’t understand,” she says just before midnight, as the pair of them start to make the regular up-and-down of the seventh-floor corridor. “He doesn’t like her.” She frowns in frustration. “I thought he didn’t _like_ her!”

“So did I,” Ginny shrugs. “So did we all. We must have been wrong, you know. Fine line and all that.”

The words send an odd little pang through Hermione as she follows Ginny through the freshly-materialised door, but she doesn't get a chance to dwell on them since she nearly goes barrelling into Ginny's back when the other girl pulls up short.

“Oh,” says Pansy’s voice. “You’re back.”

Hermione ducks around Ginny, her mouth falling open as her eyes rove around the room. The narrow shelving unit in the snack corner has toppled over, spilling packets of chocolate frogs across the floor. A lamp that formerly sat on one of the low tables has been smashed, as has the glass covering one of the framed vintage film posters that had appeared on the wall after the first night of Film Club. More than one of the large, squishy armchairs has been upended, and there’s also a sizeable scorchmark that looks like it was made by a curse on one of the walls.

It looks, frankly, like the aftermath of an outrageously dramatic duel, and in the middle of it all Harry is sat in one of the remaining upright armchairs. Pansy is curled across his lap like a cat, and though they’ve got a thick woollen blanket over them, Pansy’s feet are bare where they hang over the arm of the chair. Both of their hair is mussed; Harry’s sticking up even more absurdly than normal. When he meets Hermione’s eye he blushes, but doesn’t move.

“Hi,” he says, giving an awkward little wave.

Pansy smiles, feline and goading, and Hermione narrows her eyes.

“You could have cleaned up,” is all she says, before a flick of her wand has most of the tumbled furniture righting itself.

“We could,” Pansy sniffs, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. When Ginny goes to sit in one of the armchairs, Pansy’s smile reasserts itself. “I wouldn’t sit there,” is all she says, but Harry has the grace to give Hermione a wince of apology when she looks sharply at him.

“Ew.” Ginny fishes in her pocket for her wand, and then waves it in a complicated motion. “ _Scourgify Maxima!”_

There’s a whistling sound, and Hermione has the distinct sensation of something fizzing around her sinus area, before it passes and she blinks at the suddenly sparkling clean room.

“Goodness, Weasel,” says a sneering voice from behind her. “All those years living in a hovel have finally proved useful.”

All at once Hermione’s heart starts going a mile a minute, and she grabs the back of one of the armchairs, because surely - _surely_ Nott wouldn’t -

“I said you could bring Greengrass, not this fuckball, Nott!” Ginny says acidly. When Hermione turns around it is to see Ginny glaring daggers at Nott, who has apparently just come through the door and is, admittedly, standing with his arm around Daphne’s waist. 

Daphne at least has the wherewithal to summon a contrite expression as she smiles apprehensively around the room, but it’s the blond wizard to Nott’s other side who commands Hermione’s attention.

“I -” Nott starts to say, but Malfoy cuts him off.

“I was worried that Potter had kidnapped Pansy, but -” Malfoy’s lip quirks as his sneer deepens “- I can see that my intervention was quite unnecessary, so I’ll just be go-”

He stops talking abruptly as he turns to find that the door has disappeared, and all that’s behind him is blank wall.

“New rule of Film Club,” Pansy says. Hermione doesn’t know her well enough to be sure, but she would say that her tone is verging on _gleeful_. “No one leaves until we’ve watched the film.”

Ginny looks towards her, face caught between frustration and amusement. “You’ve changed your tune.”

Pansy shrugs, then gives a wriggle, nestling closer into Harry’s side. “Potter and I have worked out our differences.”

“For now,” Harry says, but there’s a teasing undercurrent to his voice that almost makes Hermione want to smile. That is, until she catches sight of Malfoy’s disgusted expression.

“What a touching display.” His nose wrinkles, but to Hermione’s surprise he sighs and folds himself into an armchair, crossing one knee over the other and then shooting his cuffs. “Might I ask what horrifying muggle claptrap we’re to be subjected to?”

“It’s - um.” Hermione’s voice sounds like a croak, and she pauses to clear her throat. “Aha, it’s called _The Great Escape_.”

“How appropriate,” Malfoy huffs, eyeing the space where the door should be, before he lifts a hand to rub at his temples.

The action has some of his hair falling over his face, pale strands as bright as the sun on the snow the previous morning, and Hermione only realises that she’s staring at him when Ginny clears her throat. Hermione looks at her, startled, and Ginny waves her hand in an exaggerated gesture. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Yes,” Hermione says, prising open the plastic case and slotting the cassette into the player. “Yes, right, good.”

Behind her, she hears something that sounds suspiciously like Nott snickering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there actually isn't a quote from TGE in this chapter but I wanted to include this because it's one of my favourite films to watch with the fam at Christmas. There is however an allusion to another one of my favourite films hidden away for anyone who feels like playing detective. 
> 
> Thanks for all your support thus far, it means a lot! Just a note regarding a few suggestions, as a Brit there's quite a few holiday specials that I've never seen, which means unfortunately they won't be cropping up here.


	5. The Great Escape - Part Two

All through the film Hermione remains aware of Malfoy sat a few chairs away from her.

The toe of his shoe gleams in the reflected light of the screen as his foot traces a lazy arc in time with the swell of Elmer Bernstein’s score.

When Hilts faces off with Von Luger; when Von Luger’s mouth makes its little downward curve of dissatisfaction; she sees Malfoy sit forward in her peripheral vision. Hermione can’t help it: her eyes trace the silvery edge of him - eyelash and cheekbone and pointed chin.

She’s irritated, but can’t quite put a finger on why. After all, while it might have been Harry who initially, inexplicably, invited Theo to join them (and to Hermione’s surprise she finds that she thinks of him as _Theo_ now instead of Nott), she has no one but herself to blame for Pansy’s presence, and look how _that_ turned out.

And if Malfoy’s best friends are all here, how can she protest his being invited? Hermione feels a whisper of guilt when she thinks of Professor McGonagall’s insistence on seating everyone at communal tables; of her emphatic pronouncement of the importance of _forgiveness_ and of moving forward.

But there’s just something about Malfoy that has always got under her skin, and has since they were children. She knows that Harry feels the same way, and almost finds herself sneaking a glance back to him to see whether he’s as rattled by Malfoy’s presence as she is, before her gaze snags on one of the armchairs that, in spite of Ginny’s unexpectedly prodigious skill with cleaning charms, is still on its side.

Harry, Hermione remembers, is likely to be otherwise occupied, and she wonders whether the reason for her discomfort is a result of his sudden _entente_ very much _cordiale_ with Pansy. Theo and Ginny both seem completely unsurprised to find that the two of them maybe don’t hate one another as much as they’ve always claimed to, and Hermione spends a few uneasy minutes considering the possibility that she might be jealous.

Then Steve McQueen jumps his motorbike over the fence and there’s a collective intake of breath from those who haven’t seen the film before.

“But I didn’t think muggle motorbikes could -”

“Could what?” Harry’s voice holds a teasing softness, and Hermione can imagine the look on his face, affection with an edge to it, and she _isn’t_ jealous, because him being happy has always made her happy.

She can hear that happiness in his voice now, in his laugh and then the yelp that he gives as Pansy growls “Shut _up_ Potter.”

Hermione looks over her shoulder at them then, just in time to see Harry catch hold of Pansy’s wrists and pull her, unprotesting, into a kiss. Something about the scene just _clicks_ , and Hermione finds herself smiling. Theo catches her eye and nods slightly, his fingers combing through Daphne’s hair where her head rests on his shoulder, blue eyes glued to the screen.

Turning back to watch the last, devastating act of the film, Hermione chances the barest glance at Malfoy and is shocked to find him watching her. He doesn’t move when her gaze meets his, and she isn’t sure what to make of the expression in his opaque grey eyes. For a long moment she’s trapped, unable to look away from him, and then there’s a crack of gunfire from the film and Malfoy visibly jumps, eyes skittering away towards the screen, and Hermione can breathe again.

When the credits roll he rises from his chair without a word, crossing to stand by the still-blank wall and throwing a glare at Pansy. She rolls her eyes, but the door reappears, and Malfoy wrenches it open and marches through.

He doesn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently on a New Year's trip with some friends - both internet and a wealth of group activities are conspiring against updates, but I am hoping to have another short chapter up later today. Most of the films from here on will be holiday favourites rather than specifically Christmas films...Thank you for continuing to follow along :)


	6. Die Hard

Harry surprises her by coming back to the Gryffindor common room with her and Ginny; Hermione doesn’t even see him say goodbye to Pansy, though she supposes that he must have. She’s shocked again when, having made his apologies to the Fat Lady for his prolonged absence, Harry catches her hand before Hermione can start up the stairs to her dormitory.

Ginny looks back when she realises Hermione isn’t following her, notes their interlaced fingers, and rolls her eyes. “I’ll see you both in the morning,” is all she says before she disappears around the curve of the spiral staircase.

“Harry -” Hermione starts to say, but when she tries to extricate her hand he tightens his grip, and his face when she looks at him is nervous; wary.

“Are you very cross with me?” he asks in a rush, and Hermione pauses in her attempt to get free, frowning up at him in confusion.

“Cross with you?” she asks. “Why would I be -”

“Because you hate her!” Harry’s blushing now, dull red creeping across his golden skin, and Hermione feels an overwhelming desire to laugh at him, because she’s tired and nervy and also somehow so incredibly, perfectly relieved to find that Harry cares quite so much what she thinks.

“I don’t really _hate_ anyone,” she says quietly, and now she is the one tugging him behind her, and Harry follows meekly as she leads him up the stairs to the dorm room that he’s called home since their first year. Dean, Seamus and Neville won’t be back for a few days yet, and Ron accepted the Ministry’s offer to start training as an Auror in place of returning to school, so right now Harry is the sole occupant.

Hermione feels a pang of nervousness as she remembers that Ron has promised to come and see them for New Year, and wonders what he’ll make of the unexpected new dynamic they’re forging with the other returning seventh- and eighth-years. Then Harry’s fingers squeeze hers and she decides not to think about Ron until she has to.

Getting in bed with Harry should probably be weirder than it is, especially considering how he’s spent the last twenty four hours, but then again they did it often enough during the months hunting horcruxes. That strange trip eroded the boundaries between them, making their friendship so completely unassailable that sharing a bed is nothing, really.

Hermione’s still more glad than she can say that the fact of Harry sleeping with Pansy doesn’t seem to have changed anything about _their_ dynamic, and she exhales a sigh of relief as she rests her head on his shoulder and his arm curls loosely around her waist.

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Harry asks. His voice is sleepy, but Hermione can hear the note of continued worry in it, and jabs him in the side.

“I think you’re mad, but I don’t _mind_.” She considers for a moment. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about what Ginny thinks?”

Harry laughs quietly. “Ginny will be absolutely fine,” he says. “We were never right for each other, and we both knew it.” His shoulder shifts slightly underneath her cheek. “Ron on the other hand -”

“Oh don’t,” Hermione groans, scrunching her eyes shut. “I’m too tired to think about it.”

Harry laughs again. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “He’ll threaten to kill me, kill her, kill Malfoy -”

“Wait,” Hermione frowns. “Where does Malfoy come into it?”

“Well, it’s tradition,” Harry shrugs. “If in doubt, blame Malfoy and his nefarious schemes. Having one of his best friends seduce his mortal enemy sounds right out of his playbook.”

“Right,” Hermione yawns. “So you ‘re saying that you think that Malfoy convinced Pansy to spend all day having some sort of sex duel with you as part of his dastardly plan?”

“No,” Harry says. “I’m just trying to think like Ron.”

Hermione can’t help smiling at this. It really does sound like exactly the sort of nonsense that Ron would come out with, but it also sounds very much like the increasingly wild accusations Harry levelled at Malfoy over the course of their sixth year.

“Well,” she mumbles, feeling another wave of tiredness overtake her. “As long as you and Pansy manage not to kill one another -”

“No promises,” Harry says. “She’s horribly obnoxious.”

**oOo**

 

They sleep late, missing breakfast and only making it down to the Great Hall just in time for lunch. Pansy, Theo and Daphne are sat together, and Harry beelines for them, trailing Hermione in his wake. She’s aware of the stares coming from around the room as Harry drops down next to Pansy, and when he slings an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her cheek, there’s a clattering sound as Ernie Macmillan drops his fork.

Hermione sighs, trying to hide her smile as she sits down next to Theo and helps herself to turkey chilli, which seems to be missing something.

“Mmf, could you pass the pepper?”

“Honestly Granger, is everything about you equally lacking in refinement?”

Malfoy doesn’t miss a beat as he slides into the seat opposite her, and it takes Hermione a moment to realise that he’s holding the pepper out towards her. Of course, once she does, it’s clear that she’s been gaping at him like an idiot.

“What?” Malfoy says softly, and Hermione’s face burns as she belatedly takes the pot from him.

“Nothing,” she replies. “Thank you.”

Hermione almost thinks that she hears him say “You’re welcome,” but she forgets it as Professor McGonagall appears beside their table.

“Mr Potter.”

Her crisp Scots accent rings out across the room, and Harry jumps guiltily, his hand springing away from Pansy’s thigh as though he’s been electrocuted. “Yes, Headmistress?”

McGonagall is silent for a moment, considering Harry over the top of her glasses before she speaks slowly and clearly. “What is the incantation for the Patronus Charm?" 

Harry stares at her as though she’s gone mad, but answers, “Expecto Patronum, Headmistress?”

“Very good,” McGonagall nods. “Twenty points to Gryffindor. Miss Parkinson, name a class you are taking for your NEWTs?”

“Herbology, Headmistress,” Pansy answers pertly. She places her hand very deliberately over Harry’s where it rests on the table.

“Excellent,” McGonagall says, rewarding her with a tight smile. “Twenty points to Slytherin. I am gratified,” she continues, raising her voice as Theo snorts and drops his head into one hand, “to see such exemplary behaviour being exhibited by the senior students.”

“Thanks?” Harry says uncertainly, and McGonagall waves a hand.

“Carry on,” she says, and walks out of the Hall.

“Astounding,” Malfoy says drily.

“Shut up, Draco,” Pansy says. “No one’s giving you any points for exemplary behaviour.”

 

**oOo**

 

The crowd outside the Room of Requirement when Harry and Hermione arrive that evening has grown in size again. Ginny is standing with Luna and Padma Patil, and Ernie Macmillan seems to have bodily dragged Justin Finch-Fletchley along with him. The little clutch of Slytherins are stood apart from the others, both ignoring and being ignored.

Harry makes a “hmf” sound in his throat, narrowing his eyes. “Justin,” he says , and Finch-Fletchley visibly jumps. “Do you know how to work a video player?”

“Y-yes,” Justin stammers. “I -”

“Great. Theo help him set it up, would you?”

“I don’t -”

“Please.” Harry says, catching Theo’s wrist and placing the cassette in his hand. Theo gives him a searching look and then glances down at the case.

“ _Die Hard_ ,” he reads. “Aspiration or -”

“Just help Justin,” Harry sighs.

“Yes, Theo,” Pansy says, stepping to Harry’s side and running a finger down the back of his neck. “Make yourself useful.”

When Daphne steps to Harry’s other side Hermione glances unwittingly at Malfoy, trying to work out what’s going on. He’s watching Harry with narrowed eyes, but then, as before, his gaze flicks upwards and he catches Hermione looking at him.

Again, he doesn’t look away, though his lips purse slightly. He gives a little shrug, and raises one eyebrow at her, as though daring her to say something.

Hermione matches his shrug; chances a smile, and is rewarded by a look of unmistakeable warmth as he holds the door and motions her inside.

“After you,” Malfoy says.

It’s so fleeting she thinks she might have imagined it, but her spine tingles where his fingers brush her back, and Hermione looks up at him, alarmed.

“What?”

She’s not sure how to answer - how to even _begin_ phrasing the question - but she’s saved by Luna’s bell-like voice.

“Oh I’ve heard wonderful things about this film,” she’s saying to Ernie. “It’s a magnificent study of the principles of chaotic good when pitted against lawful evil.”

“I don’t think -” Harry tries to interrupt, but Luna continues blithely onwards.

“Plus the cast is magnificent,” she sighs. “So many familiar faces.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!


	7. Terminator

Draco Malfoy has spent most of his life being told what to do, and in all honesty he’s tired of it.

He’s also tired of, in no particular order: his father’s passive aggressive letters; his mother’s hints that he should maybe just settle down with a nice witch and live quietly (as though she thinks that if he just kept his head down people might actually leave him alone); and finally being looked at by the other students as though he might at any given moment pull a wand on them.

Right now, however, he’s tired of Theo’s unnerving enthusiasm for Potter and Granger’s Holiday Exhibition of Neverending Cinematic Awfulness.

“- and _then,_ when McClane is like _‘Welcome to the party pal_ ’ -”

“Forgive me,” Draco frowns, holding up a hand to silence Theo, but he continues to blather on regardless, and Draco catches himself actually looking at his hand in shock as the usually effective gesture is rendered powerless by the seemingly insurmountable mania of Film Club.

“Because,” Theo is saying now, “you have to admit that _all_ these films are sort of terrible but also amazing so Potter must actually have pretty good taste -”

“Oh he definitely does,” Pansy says, sitting up to fold her arms on the back of the sofa and peer around Theo’s hip. “He’s got moves too, I mean, it’s no wonder he -”

“Be quiet,” Draco says, making another desperate attempt at the hand waving. “Stop talking, do not -”

“- a _third_ time, and then he put his hand -”

“You’ll have to make peace with Harry eventually, you know,” Daphne’s voice is quiet, but Draco turns to her, desperate not to hear anything more about the depths of depravity that Pansy has seen fit to explore with Harry _fucking_ Potter.

“Why on earth should I make peace with him?” he scowls. “We’ve been at each other’s throats for years, and no one has _actually_ died, so you would think we’d be fine to just carry -”

“Draco.” Daphne’s voice holds the edge of command that his has apparently lost, and Draco subsides unhappily. “You _know_ why.”

In his mind is a flash of brown eyes; the tentative edge of a smile.

“No I don’t,” he says firmly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and frankly, I’m tired of this whole -” he circles his hand in the air to take in the three of them “- _thing_ , where you’re all so enthusiastic about Potter and Granger and -”

“Nobody said anything about Granger,” Theo says, unfortunately choosing this moment to get over his apparent deafness. “So I guess it’s just you that’s -”

“No. No thank you. Nope.” Draco pivots smartly on his heel and makes for the common room entrance, only pausing to snag his cloak from the row of hooks before he steps out into the chill of the dungeons.

**oOo**

 

He spends most of the rest of the evening wandering the school. It’s strange to him, after everything that has happened in the last few years, to find himself here. Sometimes Draco has to pause for a moment, hand resting on the warm, solid stone of a wall or the polished curve of a bannister, just to convince himself that it’s real.

Eventually, inevitably, he finds himself climbing the familiar staircase. His heartbeat seems to accelerate with every step and the wind is biting, chilling his skin instantly. Draco is glad he remembered to bring his cloak; glad that he knows himself well enough to know where his feet will lead him as his hands curl around the stone railing that runs all the way around the Astronomy Tower.

Metal and stone are hard to work by magic. It takes a great deal of raw effort, pushing the energy out of your veins until you feel that you are literally bleeding power and watching the material drink it up greedily, its appetite never sated.

The railing remembers him - or rather the part of himself that he left there remembers him - and the stone warms almost immediately against his fingers. Draco finds himself exhaling a long breath that smokes on the frigid air.

He had thought that he was going to die up here. That he would fail in his task and Voldemort would kill him. He’d believed it so completely that when his hand had closed on the railing behind him his magic had leaped out to imbue the sandstone with his memory; a desperate final act.

Ironic, really, that it had only got worse after Snape saved him.

Draco’s next exhale snags in his throat, making a raw noise that he’d be embarrassed about if anyone -

There’s a creak behind him, and Draco goes still as a statue before abruptly whipping around.

“I’m sorry,” Granger says, freezing in place as she is caught in the act of backing away.

With a sigh, Draco drops his chin to his chest. “Of _course_ you would be here.” When he looks up Granger is still standing there. “Did you want something?”

“I just -” Granger swallows, and his eyes are drawn to her neck. It looks even more slender in the midst of all that hair, skin faintly tan even in the midst of winter, and there’s a dark freckle to one side of her throat, like a tiny spot of chocolate. Idly he wonders what it might taste like, and by the time he’s pulled himself back from the precipice of that terrible thought, Granger has taken a step closer to him. “What are you doing up here, Malfoy?”

He bristles at the impertinence; at the way she’s looking at him: all annoyance mixed with _concern_. “I fail to see how that’s any of your business, _Granger_.”

She tosses her hair at that, but rather than leaving him alone she steps up beside him to lean on the railing and peer over the edge. Draco’s heart leaps into his mouth, but it’s too late now. He sees it the moment she feels the magic in the stone because her face goes blank with surprise.

“ _Oh_ ,” she says, very quiet, and Draco wonders whether he should just throw himself off. He’s utterly astounded when Granger hesitates just a moment, then places her hand over his. “We all have ghosts here,” she says.

“Yes,” he agrees. Can she feel his pulse through the back of his hand? “Yes, well - 

“To answer your question, I was looking for you. Theo said you might be up here.”

“That little -”

“We’re doing Film Club early tonight,” Granger raises her voice slightly to talk over him, and Draco subsides. “Ten instead of midnight. Everyone’s a bit...tired.” She smiles, soft and bright, and squeezes his fingers gently before she withdraws her touch. Draco can feel it there, another ghost to haunt the Tower, and before he knows it -

“Sometimes I wonder what I’d do.” His voice is so faint he isn’t sure that Granger will hear. “If I had to do it over again, I mean. If I could do something different - _be_ something -”

“Different.” Granger nods in his peripheral vision, and when he turns sharply to look at her, her eyes are very far away, reflecting the stars.

“What on _earth_ would you do differently?” In his head he is vicious, but when his voice comes out of his mouth it just sounds sad.

Granger’s eyes snap to his, slightly narrowed. She’s doing that thing with her face: the cheek-chewing thing that emphasises all the soft angles of it. She’s got a really beautiful mouth, Draco catches himself thinking, and is left wondering whether he really does need a good, smart slap in the face, which then leads on to other unfortunate thoughts about Granger, and really -

“A lot of things,” she says, thankfully derailing his train of thought.

Once it becomes clear that she isn’t going to elaborate any further Draco sighs, and shrugs. “What film is it we’re watching tonight, then?”

Granger smiles at his tone of resignation, and takes a step away towards the stairs. “Granger?” he prompts her. “Hermione?”

She turns back to him. Lit by moonlight in front and torchlight behind, she looks for a moment almost fey as she extends a hand towards him. “Come with me, if you want to live.”

 

**oOo**

 

Ginny throws her hands up in confusion. “I don’t understand what sort of time turner would even send you _back_ that -”

“For the last time!” Draco isn’t sure that he’s ever heard Finch-Fletchley speak so loudly. “They don’t use a time-turner, they’ve _built_ a time machine! It’s futuristic technology, like - like -”

“Like a DeLorean,” Potter pipes up, his grin hidden behind Pansy’s shoulder.

“Yes like a - _no_ ,” Justin flings his hands up in frustration. “Honestly Harry it’s like you’re _trying_ to be unhelpful. Hermione, surely you -”

“Don’t look at me.” Granger shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching. “I’d never even seen _Terminator_ before.”

Draco looks at her sharply, and Granger stares back. Her expression is one of perfect innocence, but her eyes have a tell-tale brightness. It’s just bloody _rude_ of her to look this good, even when she’s got a piece of popcorn caught in her hair, making Draco’s hand itch with the urge to pluck it out.

“You seem very invested in this film,” Blaise says, cutting across Draco’s thoughts as he leans forward to address Justin more directly. “I admire passion.”

“You do - I - what?”

“I _told_ you it was a good idea to invite him,” Draco hears Theo say to Potter.

“And I said I trusted your judgement!” Potter protests, laughing as he leans around Pansy to set his glass down on one of the tables.

“Dear Merlin,” Draco murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he looks at her Granger is still watching him, and without thinking he’s leaned over and snagged the offending popcorn from where it lay nestled in a curl.  

His hand lingers, and her eyes widen slightly, so dark; so rich and dark and -

Draco snatches his hand away like he’s been burned. “What film are we watching tomorrow?” he asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A change of perspective! Hope you enjoyed, and sorry for the delay in posting x


	8. Anastasia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's Eve arrives at last...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry once again for the delay in posting - chapters should be back daily after this!

Hermione wakes up the next morning already on edge. Neither Ginny nor Harry came back to the common room with her the evening before, so she doesn’t bother waiting for them before making her way down to breakfast. 

“You’ll catch your death, dressed like that,” the Fat Lady huffs, and Hermione frowns down at her perfectly adequate jumper before deciding the portrait is probably just bored and it wouldn’t help either of them if she made a rude reply.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she calls back, instead.

Down and down the stairs, feeling the magic of the castle dance under her fingers as they graze the walls. Seeing the look in Malfoy’s eyes when she’d placed her hand over his in the Astronomy Tower. Feeling the jump of his pulse. Tasting the metal of his remembered fear as it threaded through the weathered stone.

Somehow it had been easy to touch him when it was just a matter of offering comfort. She’d wanted to make him laugh, wanted to see him roll his eyes at her, and so she’d hardly thought anything of offering him her hand to pull him down the stairs after her.

It had been so different when it was _his_ hand reaching for her; _his_ fingers lingering just a moment too long against her collarbone.

And how to tell Ron any of this?

_How’s Auror training? Just so you know, Harry and I watched a film with Theo Nott and now Harry’s sleeping with Pansy and last night Malfoy touched my bare skin voluntarily and I thought I was going to die._

Hermione lets out a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter that bounces along the empty corridor. This really shouldn’t be a problem. Ron is, at the end of the day, one of her very best friends and (give or take an ill-advised kiss or two) they’ve never allowed things to become awkward between them before.

Then again, there’s never been _Malfoy_ between them before.

She’s barely even aware of what she’s doing as she arrives in the Great Hall. Too caught up in her thoughts to acknowledge Ginny’s wave from where she’s sat with Luna and someone who can’t possibly be Blaise Zabini (but also can’t really be anyone else), Hermione takes a piece of toast and sits down to push it around her plate.

Her head is full of moon-pale eyes lit by a slice of light from the screen; the way his lips had parted ever so slightly in the millisecond before he’d snatched his hand away from her, staring at it as though it wasn’t even part of his body.

“ _There_ you are.”

Hermione nearly leaps out of her skin as Pansy lands opposite her at the table. A moment later Daphne slides gracefully into the seat to her side. Caught staring into space, Hermione starts to blush as she looks between the two of them. Trepidation uncurls in her stomach at the sight of their matching, intent expressions. “What do you -”

“We need to talk about the plan for this evening.” Pansy’s speaking before Hermione even has a chance to finish the question. “Decorations should probably be in keeping with the film, and Potter said that you were choosing so I wanted to check -”

“Sorry,” Hermione says, holding up a hand, and feeling a jolt of surprise when Pansy quiets, looking at her expectantly. “Are you - you’re still calling him _Potter_?”

“What am I supposed to call him?” Pansy’s pert little mouth curls into a tell-tale smirk. “Count Dickula? Captain Cock?”

“Oh god,” Hermione drops her face into her hands. “Forget I asked.”

“Done,” Pansy trills. “So anyway, as I was saying, decorations need to be in keeping with the film, and since that particular ball is in your court -”

“- unlike Potter’s balls,” Daphne interjects blithely.

“- which are not currently of concern to any of us and _would you both concentrate_?” Pansy smacks the tabletop lightly, but it’s enough to make Hermione stop staring at Daphne in horror and return her attention to - 

“So, Granger, the film?” Pansy raises an expectant eyebrow, and Hermione, unused to being on the receiving end of bossiness, finds herself cooperating.

“It’s um - it’s called _Anastasia_ , it’s a cartoon set in St. Petersburg and Paris in the 1920s -”

“Excellent,” Pansy nods, as Daphne gives a little sigh of pleasure. “Paris in the twenties it is. Granger you can be in charge of -”

“Sorry,” Hermione says, waving a hand, and then gaping with momentary surprise when Pansy actually shuts up.

“Well?” she asks.

“Well,” Hermione says. “It’s just that - it’s just - we don’t have to do _this_ , you know.”

“Do what?” Pansy asks, forehead creasing in confusion.

“Act like we’re - like we’re - you don’t have to pretend just because Harry -”

“Granger, I don’t have time to play games,” Pansy sighs. Next to her Daphne shakes her head emphatically. “And much though it grieves me to forgo one of my favourite hobbies, I don’t have time to be petty either, so since we all appear to be roped together for the foreseeable future -” (she apparently _does_ have time to pause for a dramatic shudder) “- I intend to make the best of it and ensure that this New Year’s party is an excellent one.”

“She’s good at parties,” Daphne says, giving Hermione a smile that verges on being understanding. “Probably easiest just to go along with whatever she tells you to do.”

“Oooh-kaay,” Hermione says uneasily. “I mean, I guess, since we’re both -” She looks around, frowning. “Where _is_ Harry, anyway?”

“Off somewhere with Theo,” Pansy says airily. “Now, I know you don’t do well with the elves, so perhaps it might be best if you pick up a few things from Hogsmeade while I -”

“Hermione!”

Ron’s voice rings through the Great Hall, and Hermione looks up to see him loping towards her, his face breaking into a familiar grin that falters when he sees who she’s sitting with.

“You’re early!” Hermione jumps up to hug him as he reaches the table, unsure whether she’s relieved to have been rescued from Pansy or worried that she’s apparently going to have to start offering explanations much sooner than anticipated.

“And you’re...sat with Pansy Parkinson?” Ron says slowly, blue eyes flicking nervously between Pansy and Daphne, who haven’t moved. They seem to be attempting to look innocent, but there’s a wicked look in Pansy’s eye that wouldn’t fool anyone.

“Nice to see you too, Weasley,” Pansy says. “We were just talking over the plan for this evening.”

Ron’s nose wrinkles and he doesn’t reply, opting instead to look at Hermione for confirmation. “Party,” she says. “We’re having - it’s - you’ll see,” she sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Right,” Ron nods slowly, clearly none the wiser for Hermione’s half-hearted attempt at an explanation. “But I guess that’s not ‘til later, so we can - hang on.” He looks around, frowning. “Where’s Harry?”

Hermione shrugs, and gestures helplessly to Pansy, who’s scrutinising her nails. “What?” she asks irritably when Daphne elbows her.

“Potter?” Daphne prompts.

“I told you already, Granger, he’s gone off somewhere with Theodore, Merlin only knows -”

“Hermione,” Ron says in an unusually quiet voice. “What’s going on?”

**oOo**

 

It takes most of the walk down into Hogsmeade for Ron to stop protesting that he doesn’t understand.

“It’s just not really the sort of thing that happens by accident,” he says in a low grumble, as Hermione loads him down with packages from Honeydukes that have been put aside in Pansy’s name. “You say Nott just _happened_ to be skulking around? Are you sure he doesn’t have some sort of nefarious -”

“I’m not sure of anything of the sort,” Hermione sighs. “But he and Harry seem to be getting on like a house on fire, not to mention Harry and _Pansy_ -”

“Merlin,” Ron groans. “I know Harry’s very forgiving, and there’s a thin line between love and hate and all that, but still, _Pansy Parkinson_.”

It’s on the tip of Hermione’s tongue to say something along the lines of “actually she isn’t so bad,” but a quick glance at Ron’s look of bemused horror is enough to stop her, so she keeps her own counsel as they step into the next shop on Pansy’s list.

Strangecase’s Wine Merchants has a nifty little enchantment on it which renders it invisible to anyone under eighteen, but that doesn’t stop the gnarled wizard behind the counter regarding them with a vaguely suspicious air.

“Er.” Hermione swallows nervously, unable to stop a rising bubble of guilt despite knowing she’s done nothing to merit it. “I’m here to pick up an order for Pansy Parkinson?”

As though the words have thrown a hidden switch, the wizard is at once all helpfulness. “Of course, of course, and a marvellous selection Miss Parkinson has seen fit to put aside. All ready-shrunk for your convenience, and if you would be so good as to sign the receipt here -”

He produces a piece of parchment on which is written an eye-watering sum of galleons, and Hermione, feeling a twinge of disbelief, signs it, before accepting the small parcel the wizard hands to her.

“Be careful when you un-shrink them,” he warns them. “Do it on a large, flat surface. It would be a crime to break one of those bottles.”

Hermione can only nod weakly. Beside her Ron has turned an odd, pink-tinged shade of green that she can only assume is due to having glimpsed just how much Pansy’s spent on the drinks for the party.

“Should I have brought dress robes?” he asks Hermione once they’ve started back towards the castle. “Only I didn’t realise it was _that_ sort of -”

“It isn’t,” Hermione says firmly. “We’re watching a film, and then -”

“Oh, so you weren’t joking about the Film Club, then?”

Hermione frowns up at him. “No? Why would I have been?”

“I dunno.” Ron’s armful of awkwardly shaped packages makes it difficult for him to shrug. “Films always seemed to be your and Harry’s thing, I didn’t think you’d actually invite people to join in.”

“Wait,” Hermione says, stopping in the middle of the path. Hogwarts Castle is just visible over the bluff, windows winking in the pale sunlight. “Is this why you wouldn’t come to the cinema with us last summer? Because it’s _our_ thing?”

“Yeah?” Ron says. “Maybe? I dunno, I just - I always felt like my questions about muggle stuff were annoying, and I didn’t want to -”

“Put those down,” Hermione sighs, carefully placing her own parcels on the floor.

“Okay,” Ron says, complying with slow trepidation. “But -”

“You idiot, Ron Weasley,” she sighs, throwing her arms around him and squeezing him into a tight hug. “You gigantic, stupid, total _idiot_.”

Hermione feels him relax against her as his arms come up to return the hug, and for the first time that day she feels like things might actually be alright. “It’s not as though Harry and I aren’t full of stupid questions about wizarding stuff,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, I guess.” Ron’s chin bumps against the top of her head as he nods. “Well as long as you don’t mind me joining, they’ve given me a few days off work so I was planning to stay -”

“Of course we don’t mind,” Hermione sighs, shoving him away and bending to retrieve her purchases. “Stop being such a twit about it.”

“Alright,” Ron grins goofily for a moment before some new worry clouds his features as they start walking again. “But if we’ve agreed that I’m not going to be a twit there’s something I should probably tell you…”

 **oOo**  


Draco is nervous; a thrill of energy working its way through his whole body as he tries to hold himself still in his chair through the film.

His fingers twitch against his shirt placket, and he finds himself wishing again that Pansy had allowed him to wear a tie.

“Are you seventy?” she had asked as her eyes fixed upon the strip of green silk with an expression of unbridled horror. “Abraxas? Is that you?”

At least it would have been something to fidget with. Something to smooth down against his chest in an effort to calm the staccato rhythm of his heartbeat.

Even the admittedly excellent Firewhiskey is having little to no effect, not when all it takes is the slightest turn of his head to see Granger, rapt as the story unfolds onscreen before them.

It had taken a few tries for her, Potter and Finch-Fletchley to explain the concept of _animation_ to the rest of the group, and Draco isn’t above admitting that he had felt some private alarm as the figures had begun to dance and sing. It’s a bit like watching a series of highly-stylised paintings, only he’s never come across a painting that could play music without the instruments being visible.

There is something vaguely ingenious about the whole thing, and he has to admit that the story isn’t nearly as tedious as he was expecting.

The princess, Anya, with her sceptical expression and that determined set to her jaw, reminds him more than a little of Granger, and there’s something in the character of the charming conman that seems very Potter-esque. But if this Rasputin person (and honestly, do muggles _truly_ think that’s how curses work?) has clear parallels to the Dark Lord, where should Draco find himself in the narrative?

The little bat, perhaps? Draco narrows his eyes at the thought, and then looks almost unwillingly at Theo, to be met by a snort of amusement as his best friend reads his expression.

Draco tries to hide his smile behind another sip of whiskey, but then his eyes fall on Theo’s arm, which is flung casually along the back of the sofa he’s sharing with Potter, Daphne and Pansy. The tips of Theo’s fingers are resting lightly on Potter’s shoulder, and the other man is definitely leaning into him slightly.

The moment his look becomes a question Draco knows it, because Theo’s smirk deepens, and one eyebrow rises in challenge.

Deciding that the film is markedly less confusing than what’s going on around him in real life, Draco turns his attention back to it, just in time to see the conman ( _Dimitri_ , he remembers) sweep Anya into a waltz hold on the deck of a ship.

He wonders if Granger is a good dancer. She seems like she’d be a little stiff; a little too inclined to -

 _“Anya,_ ” says the fat sidekick. _“You don’t lead, let him_.”

Draco coughs back a laugh, and then Granger is looking at him, _again_ , her eyes warm and mouth quirked as though she, too, can read his thoughts. And then she drops her gaze, turning to answer some inane question that Weasley has just asked, and Draco is left to try and pay attention to this nonsense film.

By the time it finishes there’s only ten minutes to go before midnight, and Pansy glides around the room topping up glasses and making some impenetrable joke about first footing. Draco steps over to where Theo’s standing, nursing a glass of elf wine and watching Daphne try to make the best of Potter’s clumsy waltzing.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.

“This is one of the problems of being an only child, Draco,” Theo sniffs. His nonchalance isn’t enough to disguise his glee as he chides him, “You’ve never learnt to _share_.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t recall _you_ having any siblings.”

“True,” Theo agrees. “But I was always much better at playing nicely.” He looks around sharply, and pushes away from the wall. “On your three.”

“On my wh-?”

“Hello.” Theo steps away to join the dancers as Granger appears at Draco’s side, having somehow managed to shed Weasley.

Suddenly it seems that there isn’t enough air in this tiny room as he stares down at her. She’s wearing one of the sparkly, loose-fitting dresses that Pansy managed to find for all the girls. Granger’s is a soft shade of lilac, with silver beading that makes her skin look both darker and somehow more luminous. It really is impossible. She shouldn’t be allowed to look like this.

“Hi,” Draco finally manages to say, once he remembers that he’s probably expected to return her greeting.

“Did you enjoy the film?”

Is this small talk? Is she making small talk with him? Draco frowns down at her and Granger blushes. “I mean, it’s fine if you -”

“I liked it.” Good. Words are good. “She reminded me of you.”

Bad. Words are _bad_.

“She…” Granger’s eyes are even bigger and rounder than usual. “Me?”

“Er.” Forgetting where they are, Draco wishes fervently for a means of escape, and is surprised when a doorknob pokes into his back. “Excuse me,” he tells Granger, as he wrenches the door open.

“No, wait -” Granger catches his wrist again and before he knows it they’re both out in the corridor, feet tangling to send them sprawling to the floor.

“Oof,” Draco manages to say, pushing himself upright and massaging his solar plexus where Granger’s elbow caught it. She in the meantime is scrambling backwards, rising onto her knees and straightening her dress as Draco kneels up as well, reaches for her with half a thought of helping -

She freezes when his hand catches hers. Before either of them can say a word, the sound of bells carries to them from the distant village.

“Midnight,” Granger says, unnecessarily.

He’s caught - paralysed - held captive in the dark brown of her gaze and all it would take is -

The last bell sounds and Granger sways, as though she’s dizzy, as though she’s fainting, and her mouth is right there -

“Happy New Year,” Draco whispers, seized by a feeling beyond his control as his lips brush the words over hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until tomorrow, my dudes!


	9. Scrooge

It’s a grazing suggestion of a kiss, whiskey-warm and whisper-soft. Hermione’s fingers clench on his arm; bunch the fabric of his shirt against his chest when Malfoy goes to pull back. She hears herself make a faint sound - something between a sigh and a plea - and then his fingers glide around the side of her neck and into her hair, and the kiss turns fervent. 

Malfoy’s tongue slides along the seam of her lips, followed by a graze of teeth, and this time the noise that Hermione makes is a gasp, her mouth opening to deepen the kiss. She can taste him - sweet and smoky with the faint astringency of alcohol - and under her hands she feels the heat of him, muscles taut as wire beneath his skin as he grips her waist and lifts her, strong and sure, to press her body against the wall with his.

She moves her hand from his chest to his back, pulling his shirt free of his belt to slide her fingers against his bare skin. He growls low in his throat and breaks his mouth from hers to press kisses along the line of her jaw, biting gently at her neck when she inhales sharply and tips her chin upwards.

There’s a bang from somewhere nearby; a shout of laughter as the party spills out of the Room of Requirement and into the corridor; and Malfoy is gone, staggering back, one hand rising to smooth his ruffled hair, the other sweeping behind him to tuck his shirt in. It’s an unnervingly practised movement and Hermione blinks dazedly, swallows the sudden thickness in her throat when he looks deliberately away from her.

“Hermione!” Harry is a gleeful shout and then a whirl as he catches her, spinning her in his arms. Hermione buries her face in his neck, taking the chance to blink away the sudden tears. He smells like broom polish and elf wine and the faintest hint of something sharp and peppery that is strange but also familiar.

“Happy New Year,” Harry grins. It falters slightly when he looks into her face, but Hermione shakes her head before he can frame any sort of question. She sees the telltale shine of Malfoy’s hair from the corner of her eye and deliberately looks away, to where Ron has one arm slung around Ginny and the other around Susan, who Hermione hadn’t even realised was there. He looks happier than she’s seen him for a long time, and for a moment she forgets the lingering taste of firewhiskey to smile at him.

“Why’s everyone out here?” she asks Harry in an undertone, and he frowns quizzically down at her.

“Weren’t you listening? We’re doing a first footing, although not -” he frowns, gestures vaguely, then hiccoughs. “Obviously we missed it, but Pansy wants Theo to do it anyway, and you know -“ He leans in as though to whisper, but his voice is overloud. “Easier to let her get her way.”

Pansy sends him a look of amused exasperation, more affectionate than their barely four days’ romance should suggest. Then again, Hermione reflects, it isn’t as though they’re starting from scratch.

They’re more like poorly-fitting puzzle pieces, shaken into a new and surprisingly workable alignment.

Someone whoops from further down the corridor, and then Theo comes flying past, a lump of coal in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

“OI!” Harry yells. “That’s _my_ broom, you fucker!”

“Come and get it, Potter,” Theo yells, as he swoops through the door to the Room. There’s a distinct _clunk!_ from inside, and Hermione sees Harry wince slightly. She looks over his shoulder to where Malfoy was standing, but he’s gone, and when her eyes seek him out, all she sees is a glint of pale-gold hair as he turns the corner of the corridor.

**oOo**

“What the hell is wrong with your best friend?”

There isn’t enough hangover potion in the world to make Hermione Granger’s interrogation palatable at this hour of the - Theo checks his watch and grimaces - _afternoon_ , and he’s damn certain he isn’t about to endure one on Draco’s behalf, not when he could be -

“I asked you a question, _Theodore_ , and I’d appreciate it if you would -”

“Alright, alright,” Theo relents, sinking down to sit on the floor of the Entrance Hall and tipping his head back to rest it against the wall. “Keep your hair on.”

He can’t resist. It’s so _easy_ , and he doesn’t even need to open his eyes to know exactly the shade of indignation the words will have provoked. If Draco was here he’d -

Ah, _Draco_.

“Pray tell, Granger,” Theo drawls. “What has the precious scion of the House of Malfoy done to offend your delicate sensibilities _now_?”

Theo has a fairly good idea of the answer to this question, since he is not exactly what one might call unobservant. It hadn’t escaped his notice the evening before that Draco and Granger were absent for the countdown to midnight, and Draco has been furtive and surly all day, which, if Theo knows him at all (and he most certainly does) would suggest that he has somehow behaved badly.

He doesn’t need his useless OWL in Divination to connect Draco’s bad mood with Granger’s current state of agitation.

“He’s -” Granger stops. Apparently she hasn’t worked out an appropriate lie, because she frowns, and chews her lip, and Theo is forced to roll his eyes and sigh dramatically at her.

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with him, per se,” he says, “except for being somewhat emotionally repressed and almost certainly undergoing a belated identity crisis brought on by realising that he’s got a thing for someone he’s bullied consistently since he was eleven.”

“Oh,” Granger says. She seems to visibly deflate, as though righteous indignation might be the secret to those outrageous curls. Theo makes a note to suggest this to Daphne; she’s forever lamenting the poker-straightness of her own hair.

Granger slides down the wall next to him, and Theo is only mildly surprised when her head drops onto his shoulder. Of course, it isn’t as though she’s many available alternatives. Potter has buggered off to the Quidditch Pitch with Weasley, where most of the other students are playing an impromptu New Year’s match.

Theo isn’t quite so far gone that he feels like squandering whatever remains of his dignity after last night’s escapade by further proving his own lack of prowess on a broomstick, and apparently Granger feels the same. He’s seen her on a broom, so this is hardly a surprise.

Unfortunately Pansy and Daphne _are_ rather keen fliers, which means that with Draco currently in a snit Theo is left to handle Granger alone.

“What should I do?” she asks quietly, and Theo finds that he actually gives the question some thought.

He also finds that he’s slung an arm around her, and blames Potter’s disgusting _friendliness_ for having rubbed off on him.

“Make him a little uncomfortable,” he advises her. “Then force his hand.”

Theo hears something that he suspects might be a sniffle, and horrifies himself by not only passing up the opportunity to make fun of her, but also offering her his very nice, very monogrammed handkerchief.

“Thanks,” Granger mutters. “You know, you really aren’t so -”

“Don’t say it,” Theo advises her. “I’d rather preserve the fiction.”

He feels rather than sees her nod, but when he turns his head to look at her it is to find Granger peering up at him thoughtfully.

“What were you really doing there,” she asks, “on Christmas?”

It would be so very easy to lie to her, but to his surprise, Theo doesn’t want to.

“I always miss my mother the worst at Christmas,” he says. “There was a pensieve, in the Room of Hidden Things, and I used to sneak up there -” Granger makes a soft noise of sympathy and he smiles without humour. “I know that iteration of the Room was destroyed by fire, but I thought it might somehow - what with the Castle repairing itself - it might -”

“I’m sorry you got lumbered with us instead,” she says quietly.

Now that he’s started telling the truth, why stop?

“I’m not,” he shrugs simply.

Granger doesn't say anything for a minute, but she tucks her head more firmly against his neck.

"You smell nice," she says eventually. "Peppery." Theo shrugs but doesn't reply, and they sit in companionable silence until the others come tramping in, pink-cheeked and wind-whipped, from the Quidditch Pitch.

 **oOo**  

The film, Granger explains, with prim asperity, is an adaptation of the Victorian muggle classic _A Christmas Carol_ , apparently by somebody called Charles Dickens, which is a ridiculous name, and in all honesty Draco would really rather be anywhere but here.

He can’t look at Granger, but he also can’t look away from her, and he has a suspicion that it’s making him go cross-eyed, which is really very unfortunate.

“Basically Scrooge is a curmudgeonly old man who’s so _busy_ being a total arsehole to everyone around him that he doesn’t realise his behaviour has _consequences_ and if he isn’t careful he’ll die alone and _miserable_ , and a bunch of ghosts turn up to tell him to _buck his ideas up or_ -”

“Are we watching the film,” Pansy interrupts her, “or have you decided to stage a live re-enactment?”

Granger huffs a sigh and flings herself into the seat next to Weasley, who looks at her with mild alarm as the titles start to roll.

Draco’s tongue can’t seem to forget the taste of her. He can’t stop hearing, over and over, the sound she made when he scraped his teeth against her neck.

He wants, right now, to move her hair aside and see if he left a mark. The very thought of it makes his heart race, and he’s so busy sitting on his hands to restrain himself from giving into utter madness that it isn’t until the film is well underway that it occurs to him why Granger might have chosen it for this evening’s entertainment.

Draco feels his first prickle of discomfort as he watches Scrooge being thoroughly wretched to everyone around him, and when Blaise gives a shout of laughter during a song apparently called “I Hate People,” he finds his eyes darting towards Granger, only to find that she’s very determinedly watching the film.

He looks at her again when the poor man is forced to relive his broken engagement, and can see that her eyes have narrowed. The visible corner of her mouth is tight and downturned.

By the time the great, green-clad Ghost of Christmas Present (looking like Salazar Slytherin, if the man had overdosed on cheering charms) appears onscreen, Draco’s tongue is feeling thoroughly bitten. “ _I must admit_ ,” the ghost booms, “ _I found it hard to believe you’d be as horrible as my brothers said you’d be, but now that I look at you, I can see that they were understating the truth!_ ”

Again, Draco looks at Granger, just in time to catch the swing of her hair as she looks deliberately away from him.

He doesn’t need this.

Draco’s half-risen from his chair before Theo’s hand closes around his wrist. “You sit back down,” he whispers. “And fucking watch the whole thing, or so help me.”

“What do you care?” Draco hisses out of the side of his mouth, returning his attention, albeit unwillingly, to the screen, where Scrooge is now being forced to drink from a gigantic golden goblet.

Draco, forced to watch this fucking film, feels a twinge of sympathy.

“Believe me,” Theo sighs. “I’m trying to help you before you once again fuck everything up monumentally.”

This is entirely unfair, and Draco is just on the point of protesting as much when he once again catches Granger looking at him. This time she doesn’t turn away immediately, and he gets to experience the full effect of the disappointment in her eyes.

Draco scowls back at the screen in time to see Scrooge cast into a snowdrift. He knows the feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Ladiephoenix007 on tumblr for the film suggestion! The course of true love and all that...


	10. Star Wars

"That wasn't fair."

Granger looks up sharply at him as she steps out of the room into the empty corridor where he has been waiting for her.

"How was it less fair than you disappearing without a word yesterday?" she asks quietly.

Draco's hand clenches into a fist at his side. How can she not understand what she does to him? How can she not understand how much it has taken for him simply to  _be_ there, to admit that there might be -

He thinks of Scrooge, bitter and alone, and then forced to come to terms with the fact of it all being his own fault.

"Is that how you see me?"

His voice trembles slightly and Draco feels a spasm of frustration. He sounds like a petulant child, and when Granger's mouth tightens he isn't sure whether he wants to kiss her or slam her against a wall.

Possibly some combination of the two, but the violent impulse scares him, and he bites his tongue as her eyes skate over his face.

It's just the two of them, now. Everyone else left a while ago, but Draco wouldn't - couldn't - before he had a chance to ask her this.

"Sometimes," she breathes, and he drops his chin, resigned to the answer. As a result he doesn't see her step towards him, so he's alarmed by how close her voice is when she goes on. "But the point of that film is that you don't have to be on your own, even if you've made mistakes, even if -"

"Even if everything you do seems to be a mistake?" he asks. He wants it to sound arch, but Granger has a knack of stealing the truth from him, and he knows he once again just sounds sad.

Weary and sad.

"Only if you let it," she says. She's hovering just at the edge of his personal space, and Draco knows that whatever comes next has to be his decision.

It isn't as though it would be hard to give in to her. It's what he's wanted to do for days now. Weeks even. Maybe even longer. But he's afraid: afraid that he can't deserve her; afraid he'll hurt her, properly this time.

He's been afraid to die before. Now, he thinks, feeling the twist of irony, it would seem that he's afraid to live.

"What is this?" he asks her, and he isn't sure whether he's stalling for time or if he actually wants her to answer. Granger chews her lip, leaving it a perfectly bitten shade of red.

"I don't know," she admits. "But we seem to keep finding ourselves back here."

She meets his gaze squarely, and Draco is amazed by the ease with which she tells the truth. He doesn't need legilimency to know that there isn't a shred of deceit in her. After a lifetime of half-truths and mind games it's as frightening as it is refreshing.

"You terrify me." He hadn't really meant to say it aloud, and it's an effort not to squirm as her brows twitch together in a transparent expression of perplexity. "This -" he draws an invisible line between the two of them with one finger "- terrifies me."

Something sets in Granger's face. "Feel the fear," she says softly, "and do it anyway."

The cadence of her voice makes him suspect that she's quoting from somewhere, but Draco doesn't bother to question the attribution.

He's too busy heeding the advice.

**oOo**

Pansy crawls into her preferred spot on Harry's lap, legs sprawled over the arm of their shared chair. She's got amazing legs: tiny, delicate ankles that he can close his hand around, rising into shapely calves and slim thighs.

He could write poems about her legs, if he could write poems at all. They're  _that_ great.

"Miss me?" she huffs into his ear, teeth teasing the lobe. She's got excellent teeth, too, pearly and white and even. Harry's got the vicious bite marks to prove it scattered over one side of his torso.

"I managed to keep myself busy," he smiles, turning his head so that he can kiss her properly.

He feels her smile against his; the little shiver of laughter. Somewhere behind him Ron makes a soft noise of distress, and Pansy turns her head to impart what Harry is quite certain must be an evil grin.

When he turns to look as well it is to see Ron's face pinched with discomfort. "Sorry," he says. "It's just - it's  _weird_."

"Don't be a baby," Susan yawns beside him. She catches Harry's eye and rolls her own, and he feels another wave of gladness that Ron has managed to snag himself a girlfriend who is so level-headed.

Something brushes his foot, and he looks to his other side to see Theo and Daphne have settled into their own chair. Theo's legs are stretched out to rest his heels on the same ottoman as Harry's and his thickly-socked foot has tipped to the side so that their toes barely touch. To any casual observer it probably looks accidental, but Harry feels the rush of the contact.

He wonders how scandalised Ron would be if he were to find out who else Harry's been sleeping with.

It isn't the sort of dynamic that he'd ever envisaged for himself, and admittedly it's only been a few days, but something about it feels - well. Feels right.

"We tried the whole  _ménage-à-trois_  thing," Pansy had told him, characteristically blunt. "But Theodore and I just don't feel that way about one another, and so the arrangement has been rather...lopsided."

When she had disappeared off with Daphne, Harry had looked at Theo, and found himself met by an implacable stare and a vaguely condescending smirk. "You're under no obligation to  _do_ anything, Potter," he'd said. "We can just play wizard chess or someth-"

The topic of wizard chess hadn't been raised again, and now Harry revels in how comfortable he feels, with Pansy tucked into his side and Theo close by. He looks towards Daphne, and she smiles warmly at him: friendly, companionable. Like Theo and Pansy, there's no attraction there.

In another life maybe; right here, right now, the setup seems pretty ideal.

He's fairly sure Hermione suspects, but she hasn't brought it up with him. She's got her own things going on anyway, he thinks wryly, as he watches her and Malfoy carefully edging around one another.

They're not at odds the way they were yesterday. In fact, their avoidance of one another seems hyper-aware, and now that Harry thinks about it he hasn't seen either of them all day, despite having spent most of it in either the Gryffindor or Slytherin common rooms.

He smiles at that, just as Hermione looks over at him. "What film are we watching this evening?"

Harry's smile disappears, and he gapes at her. "I thought you were choosing?"

"Harry!" The tone of exasperation is hopelessly familiar, and Harry feels guilt prickling up the back of his neck. "I chose the last two!"

Luna sits up from where she has been prostrate on the floor. "If a tree falls in the woods can we still be called Film Club?"

"I -" Hermione says, just as Malfoy growls, ” _What?_ " and somebody else clears their throat.

"Ahem."

Harry looks over to where Justin has, absurdly, raised his hand. When he realises the attention of everyone in the room has fallen on him, the Hufflepuff boy flushes deeply. "I - er - that is, I took the liberty of - if nobody minds, that is -"

"Spit it out," Ron says, earning himself a gentle smack from Susan.

Justin just holds up the box in his hand, and Harry guffaws with delight. "You  _genius,_  Justin."

"What?" Theo asks, craning his neck and squinting at the box as Justin rises to put the VHS in the player. "What the fuck is that? Is he holding a wand?"

"It's called a lightsaber," Justin says, rocking back on his heels as the screen darkens, and the blue words appear.

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away._

Then the first notes of the John Williams score blast outwards, and almost everyone in the room jumps. Harry laughs again, looking over to see that Hermione, too, is grinning.

"Merlin's balls," Blaise breathes, as yellow script begins to scroll up against a backdrop of stars. "Muggles are insane."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naturally I had to have them watch one of MY all time favourites. I'm afraid we're a little far-removed from Christmas now, so they won't be watching any further 'Christmas' movies, just some all-time classics. It's educational!


	11. Star Wars, Part Two

“So that’s it?” Ginny asks, as the titles start to roll. “They don’t even kill Darth Vader?”

“Well no, obviously not,” Justin says. His eyebrows pinch together, his face endearingly earnest. “Otherwise there wouldn’t really be any story to tell in the next two -”

“There are more?” Theo sits upright, rearranging Daphne where she has apparently managed to fall asleep.

“Oh Justin,” Harry laughs, as several other voices are raised in interest. “What have you done?”

“So if the Cannoli man is going to come back more powerful, does that mean he has horcruxes?” Pansy asks, and Harry sighs, realising that he almost certainly has no means of escape.

“ _Kenobi_. And no, it’s more of a -” he struggles for the right word, and looks pleadingly at Hermione, who just smiles.

“Use the Force, Luke,” she says, unhelpfully.

“Thanks,” he grates out.

“Hmm,” Pansy murmurs, smoothing a hand through his hair. “That smuggler-y one is cute, I guess.”

“He’s _called_ Han Solo,” Harry protests, keen to defend his childhood idol before he catches the glint in her eye and realises that she’s teasing him. “I find your lack of faith... _disturbing_ ,” he says, pitching his voice into an absurd bass that elicits a look of blank shock from Pansy before she starts to giggle uncontrollably.

“This bickering is pointless,” Blaise says, voice rising above the hubbub in such a perfect imitation of Peter Cushing that everyone falls quiet. If he’s surprised by the effect of his words, he doesn’t show it, just looks calmly at Justin. “Do you happen to have the other films with you?”

**oOo**

Hermione isn’t that surprised to find that she’s the only one who makes it to lunch the next day. They were all up until nearly five watching the whole of the Star Wars trilogy, and with only a couple of days of the Christmas holiday left everyone is inclined to make the most of not having to get up for morning classes.

It gives her a chance, as she sits with a couple of younger students and automatically answers questions about a tricky bit of OWL Arithmancy, to think about Draco.

_“Feel the fear,” she says, “and do it anyway.”_

_He looks at her, pale as marble and just as opaque, and then he takes a deliberate step forward, hands coming up to frame her face._

_Every time he kisses her it is a new revelation, a new secret wrested from him. This touch tender, this sound reverent. Fierce and frightened; brittle and bold._

_Who are you? she wants to ask him. Who are you, Draco Malfoy, that you do this to me?_

_“Stay with me,” he whispers, and Hermione doesn’t question it, backing towards the door of the Room, pulling him with her._

They hadn’t done more than kiss, but they had lain down together on one of the sofas, limbs twining, bodies curled into twin question marks, the answer somewhere in between.

And they’d talked for what seemed like hours before they fell asleep, and then for hours again when she woke up to his nose pressed into the side of her neck, his arms wrapped tight around her waist.

She’d told him about her parents, how she doesn’t think they’ll ever remember her properly. He’d told her about his father, lucid for barely ten minutes at a time, and his mother: proud and brave and broken.

They’d talked about the war, and all the shattered pieces that Voldemort left behind him. They’d talked, finally, about Malfoy Manor.

_“I thought she was going to kill you,” he breathes. The look in his eyes is terrible. His fingers have tightened on her so that his grip is almost painful. He’s so real, so present. “I thought that she was going to kill you and make me watch it.”_

_“I was ready to die.” Hermione runs her thumb under the swell of his bottom lip. “I know how that feels.”_

_How sick, how terrible, that they both have this to live with. Draco’s eyes search hers, and while she isn’t quite sure what he’s looking for she sees the moment he finds it, like a light coming on, before he kisses her again._

_It’s a kiss that finds its way into her blood, sending warmth all the way to her toes._

_“I hated you for so long,” he tells her._

The day had seemed to pass in a blur, and then all too soon they’d gone down to dinner, fingers tangled until the last second, Draco pulling her back before they reached the main staircase, pressing himself to her in a shadowed alcove, mouth hot and desperate on hers before they returned to their fiction of indifference.

_“I need to have secrets,” he tells her. “Allow me to keep this one, just for a little while.”_

_His hand presses hers over his heart._

At least the films had proved a worthwhile distraction. Hermione smiles to herself, unable to believe that a story about three scrappy idiots saving the universe could be quite such an unqualified success. She’s just pushed back her empty plate and made to rise from the table when there’s a shout from the Entrance Hall.

“It’s a TRAAAAAAAP!”

By the time Hermione reaches the main staircase, it’s to see Harry and Theo giggling wildly at the top of it as they shoot red sparks at Blaise and Ginny, who return fire in green.

“Surrender, rebel scum!” Ginny yells, as Dean appears next to Harry, adding his own volley of red sparks.

“Short help is better than no help at all,” Theo laughs, and Dean shoots him a dirty look that’s ruined by his huge grin.

Seamus emerges from under the stairs and runs to stand beside Ginny, his hands full of something that gives off acrid blue smoke. “Witness the firepower of this fully ARMED and OPERATIONAL -”

“Would someone care to explain to me what on EARTH is going on here?” Headmistress McGonagall’s voice rings out across the Entrance Hall, leaving a deafening silence in its wake that is broken by whatever Seamus is holding exploding in his arms in a shower of bright green sparks.

Hermione thinks burning his eyebrows off before term has even started might be a new record for Seamus, and she suppresses the urge to laugh.

“Hello,” says a low voice in her ear, and Hermione tries not to jump as a light touch lands on her mid-back. “What have we here?”

She can’t help the smile that blossoms at the sound of his voice. “You’re going with Lando?”

“Double-crossing is more my style than straightforward heroics,” Draco murmurs. “Want to attempt a daring escape before we face the wrath of the empire?”

Hermione eyes McGonagall, who is speaking in a rapidly rising tone to Blaise, Ginny, and Seamus. Even Blaise is looking contrite, and Harry and Theo are frozen at the top of the stairs, seemingly caught between horror and glee as Dean tiptoes backwards.

“I think it looks as good a time as any to be whisked away,” she says, reaching behind herself to lace her fingers into his.

“Let’s go.” Draco draws her gently backwards into the shadows at the edge of the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I got completely carried away. This will be fairly Dramione-centric from here, and there are four chapters remaining. For those questioning dates, it's currently 3rd January, i.e. Film Club has been running for 9 days.


	12. Musical Interlude

“Where are we going?” Granger sounds like she’s on the verge of laughing, and Draco squeezes her hand in his.

“It’s a surprise,” he says, and now she does laugh, a soft sound that raises the hair on the back of his neck.

Of course, it doesn’t take long for her to recognise the route that he’s taking to the seventh floor, and when she does he feels her tug on his arm, and stops to look over his shoulder.

“Isn’t it a bit early?” Granger asks, and Draco feels one eyebrow lifting into a question.

“Early?”

“For Film Club,” she clarifies, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

“Ah,” Draco nods. “Yes. About that.”

**oOo**

_Earlier that day_

“For fuck’s sake,” Draco sighs, opening the door to the Slytherin Common Room to see Potter standing in the corridor outside, looking _far_ too perky for someone who can have had, at best, five hours’ sleep. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry Malfoy,” Potter deadpans. “I didn’t realise that I’d been so subtle. You see, it’s obviously escaped your notice that Pansy and I are -”

“Shut up,” Draco says. “You are entirely awful, and anyway if you’re looking for Pansy she’s not here, she and Daphne already went down to Hogsmeade.”

“Ah,” says Potter. He doesn’t seem at all put out by this information. In fact, he’s peering rather rudely over Draco’s shoulder. “Any chance Nott is about, in that case?”

Draco stares at him for a moment, several disparate pieces of information slotting together until he realises he might as well be as ignorant as Potter had implied. “Oh you have got to be _kidding_ me,” he groans. “THEODORE!”

“You rang?” Theo’s head appears from the boys’ bathroom, his dark hair still wet from the shower and sticking to his forehead. “Ah, Harry. Come to play a round of wizard’s chess?”

“Why yes,” Potter smirks, stepping around Draco as though he’s part of the furniture. “I _was_ hoping that we could go a couple rounds, now that you -”

“Enough,” Draco growls, scrunching his eyes shut and hoping that when he opens them Potter will have disappeared. No such luck. They’re both looking at him with expressions of gleefully insincere innocence, and he feels his shoulders slump as an idea occurs to him.

“Is there any chance,” he says slowly, “that you could postpone your _game of chess_ to help me with something?”

Potter casts Theo a sly look. “I guess that depends,” he says. “What would we be helping you with?”

**oOo**

“Film Club is taking a break tonight,” Draco says. “I had a word with Theo and Potter and -“

“You spoke to Harry?” Hermione’s heart feels like it’s just climbed up into her mouth.

“I didn’t go into too many specifics.” He’s turned to continue leading her up the stairs, so she can’t see his face, but she suspects he’s smiling. “Just asked if we could maybe take a rain-check this evening, seeing as how we watched three films last night -”

“What did he say?” Hermione asks.

“Well _Theodore_ was fairly certain that they could occupy themselves for a single night.” She can hear the smirk now; can imagine it shaping his thin mouth. “I believe the words ‘Battle of Endor’ were mentioned.”

“Oh.” _Hence the scene in the Entrance Hall._ “Wait, so that was -“

“I didn’t ask them to stage _quite_ so elaborate a distraction,” Draco murmurs. “I’ve learned through experience that it’s sometimes best to keep things simple.”

Hermione nods silently, then realises that he can’t see her, and speaks hurriedly. “That makes sense. But what -”

“Ah, ah.” They’ve reached the seventh floor corridor, and Draco turns on his heel to smile at her. “Wait here,” he says, releasing her hand before they reach the blank patch of wall that hides the entrance to the Room.

“Why?” Hermione asks, confused. “What are you -?”

“Keeping things simple.” Draco completes his third turn of the corridor and then opens the door, motioning with his hand for her to go through first.

A small part of Hermione’s brain tells her to be careful. Tells her that the harder she falls now, the more it might hurt later.

She isn’t afraid of him; not really. But she’s afraid of the way that her heart leaps when she looks at him - of the way his touch sends shivers across her skin. She’s afraid that whatever happens this afternoon, they won’t be able to go back from it; though if she’s honest with herself the time for going back was probably before she kissed him on New Year’s Eve.

In any case, he has a power over her, and it scares her just enough that it makes her waver for the barest moment. Makes her hesitate just long enough to see a flicker of uncertainty in Draco’s smile.

“Hermione?” His voice is very soft, and in her name she hears all the vulnerability he strives to hide behind arch looks and cutting words, and she remembers.

Draco has fallen before, hard enough to break, and the man who says her name with such careful tenderness is one who has had to rebuild himself from the shattered pieces of a former life.

She can catch the edges of the boy he was, but when she looks - _really_ looks - she sees the start of the man he could be, and that’s who she takes a step towards.

“I know that I - that by any measure I used up all of my chances long ago.” His voice is still quiet, and his throat works slightly before he continues. “And I can’t promise that I will never hurt you because -” his shoulders droop slightly “- because I know myself too well for that. But I’ll never do it deliberately, and as far as I’m able I will never let anyone else hurt you either.”

He meets her eye steadily, and Hermione feels herself half-smile and half-frown as she loops her arms around his neck. “I’m not asking you to promise me anything,” she says. “You’re enough, Draco Malfoy. And you choosing to be here with me is -"

“I’ll make you angry,” he blurts out. “It’s inevitable. And I’ll get angry with you too, and we’ll fight, and it will be awful but - but it will be real, and I _want_ that with you, I want -”

He doesn’t get any further, because Hermione kisses him gently, stopping whatever he was about to say.

“One step at a time, maybe?” she smiles. “By your count, we’ve got plenty of time.” When he stares silently down at her she tips her head coyly. “Are you going to tell me what you’ve got planned for this afternoon?”

“Ah.” Draco flushes deeply. “Well, I _did_ also ask Potter if you had a favourite film.”

“Oh god,” Hermione says. “What did he -”

“But I thought maybe we could do this first.” He guides her gently through the door, where a silvery dancefloor glitters under icicle-shaped lights.

Hermione turns to him, confused. “Draco what -”

“I told you yesterday that I hated you for a long time.” He takes her right hand in his left, and places his other hand on her waist. “Well, I think seeing you at the Yule Ball was maybe the first time I realised that maybe I didn’t actually _hate_ you -”

“Because it was the first time you saw me looking pretty?” Hermione raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, but Draco just smiles at her.

“No,” he says. “Because it was the first time I saw you on a date with someone else.”

Music starts somewhere behind them, soft minor notes, and Hermione looks up at him, surprised. “How did you -”

Draco starts to turn them in gentle circles. “Well as it turns out, once you get Potter talking, it’s hard to shut him up.”

“Christ,” Hermine buries her head in his shoulder, breathing in the woody, vetiver scent of him, and lets him steer her across the floor as Dusty Springfield croons quietly in the background. “So he got my favourite song right at least.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know,” Draco murmurs drily, spinning her under his arm. When she pivots back towards him Hermione snags her fingers in his shirtfront and uses his momentary loss of balance to press her mouth firmly to his, letting herself go boneless against him. 

“Oh,” Draco breathes, when she releases him. His pale eyes are dark in the low light, pupils wide as he gazes down at her. “This is quite a sad song, Granger,” he whispers.

“Well, I have other favourites,” Hermione smiles. She can feel the magic of the room all around them, tingling over her skin. “Close your eyes.”

It’s just a matter of thinking about it, she realises, as she closes hers too, and feels the room shifting around her. When it stills, she looks around and smiles, watching Draco’s face as he follows her gaze around the suddenly candlelit room. “Oh,” he says again, when his eyes land on the bed. “Granger - Hermione - are you -”

“Have a heart, Malfoy,” she teases him, running her fingers down the back of his arm before she takes his hand and steps back towards the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song they dance to is "Anyone Who Had a Heart" and YES if you're being eagle-eyed I have now bumped it up to 16 chapters because this little number was getting away from me so I have split it in half - hence no film this chapter! Guess you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out Hermione's favourite film (spoiler: it's one of many)...


	13. Four Weddings and a Funeral

There’s a part of him that thinks that this can’t possibly be real; that she can’t be here, now, with him.

That her hand in his is a dream.

That her smile is a fragment of moonlight caught in his memory.

“Draco,” Granger says. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

And that’s all it takes: he’s there, in the moment, as real as anything has ever been. But he doesn’t have an answer that makes any sense, can only murmur - “Why wouldn’t I look at you like this?”

Granger blushes: cheeks stained a dusky rose colour, and ducks her head before looking up at him through her eyelashes, and Draco can’t help himself. He kisses her, and she’s the furthest thing from a dream: warm and real, her tongue licking into his mouth, her fingers pulling at his hair, at his collar, nimble and eager as they begin to dance down the buttons of his shirt.

Draco lifts her again, the way he did when he kissed her at new year, but this time he turns on his heel and sits on the edge of the bed, so that her knees bracket his hips and she’s straddling him, and he can feel the heat of her against him as she makes a breathy little sound and _grinds_ down and -

“Wait,” he whispers, breaking his mouth from hers and catching her wrists. “Wait - Hermione - I - _please_ -”

She sits up, her hands on his shoulders as she leans away from him, and really it’s no better because it means that her weight slides against him, and he sees it in her face when she feels him, hard against her, her mouth forming a little “O” and her liquid brown eyes turning treacle-dark.

“Have you - before?” it seems absurd, to ask her now, when she is the one who has transformed the room so, who has produced a _bed_ for fuck’s sake -

“No,” she says, and suddenly she’s frowning at him, concerned. “Is that a problem?”

“Is that a -“ Draco scoffs. “ _Obviously_ not, but is it a problem for _you_ , you don’t want to -“

“What?” Granger squints at him. “To wait? Until I’m sure?” She tilts her hips, and Draco hears himself make a soft, choked-off noise as she leans in and places her mouth against his ear. “I’m pretty fucking sure.”

Her hands slide inside his shirt then, pulling it from his shoulders, and Draco releases his grip on her waist to allow her to pull it off him. Granger wastes no time wrenching him free of his undershirt as well, though the look she gives him, sparkling with amusement, as she tugs it over his head suggests to Draco that her somewhat-less-than-tender ministrations have left his hair looking a bit of a state.

“Enjoying yourself?” Draco asks softly. Granger’s mouth twitches, and she leans in so that their lips are barely an inch apart.

“Immensely,” she murmurs.

**oOo**

“So.” Hermione raises herself up on one elbow and summons her most earnest expression.

Draco turns his head to look at her, and her gaze rests briefly on his mouth. His lips are swollen, reddened, and for a moment Hermione is distracted by the memory of them on her -

_“Oh,” she gasps as his teeth graze across her nipple, as he blows cool air onto the trail that his tongue has run down her breastbone. “Oh my god.”_

_“You like that?” He’s watching her when she raises her head, ghost-grey eyes tracking every minute change in the expression on her face._

_“Yes -” Hermione says. “Yes I -”_

_He pushes himself further down the bed, fingers skimming the outside of her thigh before he lifts it, settling her knee over his shoulder._

_“I wonder,” Draco murmurs, dipping his head to kiss her navel, her stomach, and then - he pauses, looks up at her again, and_ smirks _, and Hermione can barely_ breathe _. “Do you think you’ll like this?”_

“Mhm.” She shakes her head to bring herself back to the present, and Draco offers her a hazy smile. “So,” she says again, drawing feather-light circles on his chest with her middle finger. “When were you thinking we should announce the engagement?”

Draco goes stock-still. “Engagement?”

“Yes,” Hermione nods. “I assumed, since we slept together, and your family is so traditional -”

“Oh,” Draco barks, sitting bolt upright. “Oh no - that’s not to say - but you have to understand -”

She can’t hold in the little snort of laughter that escapes from behind her hand, and instantly the tension drains from Draco’s shoulders. “You little -”

“Oh, you should have seen your _face_ ,” Hermione is laughing so hard it’s a struggle to get the words out. “You were so _horrified_ , it was amaz-”

“Right,” Draco growls. “That was a dreadful trick, Granger.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she teases him, and then shrieks when he grabs her around the waist, pulling her against him and then rolling them over, pinning her to the bed with his weight, his hands sweeping up to hold her wrists.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson,” he says, directing the words into the hollow at the edge of her jaw, and Hermione moans in spite of herself, lifting her legs to lock her ankles around his hips. When she feels him nudging against her she bites her lip, the laughter dying in her throat as they stare at one another.

“Fuck me,” Draco breathes, releasing one wrist to trace the line of her cheek.

**oOo**

“You can’t be serious,” Granger squeaks indignantly. Draco ignores her, gathering the sheets around his waist before he sits upright and speaks into thin air.

“Room, can you send us a house elf please?”

“Malfoy, I mean it! This is -”

“Mr Malfoy, sir!” Draco levels a cocky grin at her before he turns to address the small creature that has appeared in the middle of the room. Granger can protest all she likes; if they’re going to get this much exercise (they have _exercised_ three times now, and he’s sure it must be past dinnertime) he’s going to need something to eat.

“Hello,” he says, squinting at the elf and determining that it’s female. Draco doesn’t share his father’s disdain for House Elves: he spent most of his childhood being spoilt rotten by them, and he has a healthy respect for their ability to make one’s life very uncomfortable if offended. “Would you be so kind as to send up two dinner plates, some pumpkin juice and,” he adds, struck by inspiration, “if you have a chance could you floo Trollope at Malfoy Manor and ask him to send over a bottle of the ‘64 Bordeaux?”

“Draco, this isn’t a hotel!” Granger swats his shoulder, leaning around him to address the elf. “You don’t need to do any of that, we’re really alright it’s -”

“Mr Malfoy, sir,” the elf speaks over Granger, huge blue eyes round and staring. “Is you needing Oddkin’s assistance in _removing_ Miss Granger?”

Draco chokes on a laugh. “That won’t be necessary. Just the food. And the juice. And the wine, if it’s no bother.”

“None at all sir!” the elf nods eagerly, though she casts another nervous look at Granger, and hesitates slightly before finally disapparating.

“I can’t believe you would - oh.” Granger visibly deflates as the tray appears on the bed between them. On it are two plates - one dinner-sized and piled with delicious looking bits of finger food. The other is barely the size of a side-plate; it might even be a saucer; and on it is a piece of thinly buttered toast. “Well I guess that’s -”

There’s another _pop_ , and a bottle of wine appears on Draco’s side of the bed, along with a single glass. It’s a struggle not to laugh at the crestfallen look on Granger’s face, but Draco shoulders the burden manfully, pouring a glass for her and then swigging the excellent vintage straight from the bottle.

“You need to approach them on their own terms,” he tells her. “The bonds between elves and wizards are complicated and require a lot of volition, on both sides -”

“But Dobby -” Granger starts to say.

“Was routinely mistreated by my father, and was unusually single-minded for an elf even before that,” Draco tells her. She’s still chewing her lip, so he nudges the laden plate her way. “I promise you, this sort of thing is what most of them live for.”

Granger appears to struggle for a moment but then relents, grabbing a golden sausage roll and biting into it. She chews thoughtfully for a moment and then takes a sip of her wine, eyes widening as she looks from the glass to Draco. “This is very -”

“Good food, good wine, good company,” he salutes her with the bottle. “Now, did you want to watch that film?”

**oOo**

“You little sneak!” Draco protests, his fingers catching at her ribs. Hermione, already giggling, gasps for air and tries to slap him away as he goes to tickle her. “It’s completely unfair to quote lines from a film if I haven’t _seen_ it.”

“No,” Hermione manages to say. “It’s completely fair, do you know how _rare_ it is for me to know something you don’t -”

“That’s total bollocks, Granger, you know _everything_ -”

“Not everything,” she says, surprising herself with the sudden sincerity. She’s managed to wrestle her way on top of him, fingers splayed on his chest, and she can count his breaths as they stare at one another.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

“Maybe I have met the right girl,” Draco says, very quietly, before mischief edges its way onto his face. “ _Pluvio_ ,” he mutters, and Hermione yelps with shock as cool rain starts falling from the canopy of the bed and onto her naked shoulders.

“What are you _doing_ , have you gone -”

“I think the right girl might be the one straddling me in the rain,” he says musingly, ignoring her protests, and Hermione, caught off guard, stares at him for a moment before she feels a smile work its way across her mouth.

“Is it still raining?” she asks, pushing his now-soaked hair back from his forehead. “I hadn’t noticed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four Weddings ruins me every time.


	14. Three Wishes for Cinderella (Tři oříšky pro Popelku)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based around a Czech/German version of Cinderella that was recommended to me via Tumblr.

It’s a perfect winter morning, very bright and clear, as Ron and Susan make their way up from Hogsmeade towards the castle. McGonagall had offered them the use of their old dormitories, since both were still being occupied by eighth-year students, but they’d decided to take a room at the Three Broomsticks instead. “More privacy,” Susan had smiled, her eyes sparkling as Ron went red to the tops of his ears, in spite of the fact that they were  _ more _ than well-acquainted enough for her to make the joke.

And it had proven a good call, as they’d made plenty of use of the room yesterday, with the unexpected cancellation of Film Club providing the perfect excuse not to leave at all.

But Ron has to admit it’s nice to be out in the fresh air, and he drinks in the familiar sight of the castle coming into view as they reach the top of the hill. He and Susan both draw to a halt, however, at the entirely unexpected addition to the landscape in the form of a muggle delivery van pulled up on one side of the road that winds its way up past Hogsmeade.

“Oh!” The muggle driver looks at them with an expression of desperation as they approach. “Hallo there!”

“Hi?” Ron says, trying to stand so that Susan is behind him, but she worms her way under his arm to smile brightly at the driver.

“Can we help you with something?”

“Aye laddie,” the driver says, shaking his head. “It’s the strangest thing. I’ve got a parcel for -” he squints at the label “- a Luna Lovegood? Anyhow, it says to be delivered to Hogwarts Castle, and this is the right address, far as I can tell, but all that’s up here is that old ruin.” He gestures at Hogwarts, which is looking particularly majestic in the winter sunlight. 

“Ah,” Ron says, comprehension beginning, slowly, to dawn. “Well, um, there’s a - a keeper’s cottage,” he explains in a rush, almost surprised by his own flash of inspiration. “That’s where Luna lives, but we’re just - we’re just on our way to visit her actually, so we can take the parcel, if you like?”

“Would you?” the man asks, his face stamped with almost giddy relief. “I dinna ken what it is about this place, but I’ve a feeling I left the gas on at home, and I think I might have missed a dentist appointment, and I really dinna want to -”

“No problem,” Susan says. Ron accepts the package that the man hands through the window, and Susan doesn’t make too much of a show of eyeing the biro that she’s handed before she scrawls an elaborate signature on the clipboard the man holds out. 

“Much obliged to youse,” the driver nods, before he guns the engine and speeds back down the hill. 

“I wonder what that is?” Susan muses, peering curiously at the package. It’s light brown, not particularly heavy, and has a white label with even, blocky letters spelling out Luna’s name and the address of the school.

“I’ve no idea,” Ron replies. “Two fingers up to the International Statute of Secrecy, if I had to hazard a guess.”

 

**oOo**

 

Hogwarts Castle is oddly quiet that morning, despite the fact that there should now be a steady trickle of students returning. There’s only a couple of days until the official start of term on the sixth, after all.

“Mr Weasley, Miss Bones!”

Ron gives a guilty start as Headmistress McGonagall’s voice rings out across the Entrance Hall, though he straightens up quickly when Susan shoots him an amused glance as she answers, “Yes, Headmistress?”

“I understand that Mr Potter and his - ah -  _ associates  _ are to be found in Ravenclaw Tower this morning,” she says, eyeing the pair of them over her glasses. “I assume that you are seeking them out?”

“Ravenclaw?” Ron asks, stupidly, but Susan tugs on his hand before he can ask McGonagall why on  _ earth _ -

“Thanks Headmistress,” Susan calls over her shoulder, before giving his arm another yank. “Come  _ on_, Ron.”

It’s a pleasant enough climb through the school, though it remains eerily deserted, and by the time they reach the nondescript wooden door with its eagle-shaped knocker Ron is starting to get a prickling sensation up the back of his neck, almost as though they’re being -

“A teapot,” Susan says, in response to whatever the eagle has asked her, and the door swings open to admit them to Ravenclaw Tower.

This high up the sunshine is a dazzle, falling through tall, narrow windows to paint bright strips across the floor, which is covered in a blue carpet. 

“Let me go first,” Ron says to Susan, probably unreasonably, but still he can’t shake that suspicious sensation.

“Hello?” He calls dubiously. The large room appears deserted, and yet he can’t think why McGonagall would have sent them up here for no reason.

“Can you see anyone?” Susan asks, her head appearing over his shoulder, and Ron moves unwillingly to the side. 

“I don’t think -” he starts to say, but then there’s a rustling sound and Luna’s head pops up from nowhere, her ridiculous lion hat perched askew on top of her cloud of dirty-blonde hair. Ron blinks, and squints until his eyes catch the edge of the Disillusionment Charm. He realises with a jolt that the large blue patch in the middle of the room that had looked like a carpet is actually a pile of furniture and cushions, arranged almost like a - 

“Well I see you’ve had a very productive morning,” Ron says, unable to keep a note of admiration for the sheer  _ scale  _ of the pillow fort out of his voice. “Maybe the hat’s a bit much?”

“Oh come on.” Ginny springs up next to Luna, wearing a gigantic muggle pirate-hat. “It’s fun!”

“Okay,” Ron shrugs, starting towards the fort, but before he can take a step Blaise stands between the girls, crossing his arms over his - Ron’s mind stutters slightly -  _ bare  _ chest. 

He _really_ doesn’t want to think why Blaise Zabini might be half-naked in a blanket fort with his sister and her best friend.

“Password?” Blaise grins, clearly enjoying Ron’s discomfort. He’s got what appears to be a full flitterby bush on his head, and the orange glow of the creatures complements his dark skin beautifully. 

“Er -” Ron pauses. “We already did that bit.” He jerks his thumb towards the door, before continuing. “Is Harry here?”

There’s a noise that might be a muffled shout, and Blaise’s smile broadens. “So you’ve come to negotiate the release of the prisoners?”

“Prisoners?” Ron shoots Susan a panicked look, but she’s no help. In fact, she seems to be eyeing Blaise with interest, and only stops when Ron elbows her indignantly. “Oi.”

“Sorry,” Susan says to him in an undertone, not that she sounds it, though she leans into his side before stepping forward and crossing her arms to address Blaise. “We  _ might _ be here to negotiate. How many prisoners do you have?”

At this, there’s more muffled shouting, and the sofa that forms the foundation of the left-hand side of the fort jolts as though someone has kicked it. 

“Enough!” Ginny yells, and the noise ceases abruptly. “What can you offer us in exchange?”

“This?” Ron says weakly, holding up the parcel. 

“Oh,” Luna sighs. “They  _ did  _ capture our flag.”

“What do you mean?” Blaise uncrosses his arms to stare incredulously at her. “I thought our flag was in here!” 

“Why would we keep it in here?” Luna asks, plainly mystified. “ _Anyone _ could find it in here -”

“That’s the whole point of the game!” Harry appears through of the side of the fort, having managed to kick a cushion out of the way. He’s still struggling to remove his gag one-handed as he eels his way to the floor, his ankles bound with what appears to be a Slytherin tie. “Your flag is supposed to be  _ here_, just like ours is in the Rebel Base -”

“Would you _stop _ calling the Slytherin Common Room that?” Dean’s voice comes from somewhere inside the fort.

“- being guarded by Daphne and Theo.”

“As if they’ll be doing much guarding,” Pansy sighs where she’s risen to her feet next to Luna. She’s also wearing a hat; hers an outsized, flowery bonnet. “I guess it didn’t do much good switching sides in the end.”

“You traitor,” Harry grumbles good-naturedly from the floor. He’s finally got his hands free, and is working on loosening his feet from their binding.

“What’s going on?” Ron asks weakly, just before there’s a muffled explosion and the right-hand side of the fort collapses completely, releasing a plume of feathers into the air.

“Battle of Endor!” Seamus exclaims, clambering through the smoking remnants of a sofa. “Then once we’d been dug in at the Rebel Base -”

“I said STOP!” Dean hollers, still hidden.

“- for a couple of hours we decided it might make things more interesting if we played capture the flag instead.” He beams at Ron and Susan as Dean wrenches himself free from the wreckage to come and stand beside him. Both their faces are smudged with soot, and the feathers have started to settle in everyone’s hair.

“Very  _ Home Alone_,” says a sarcastic voice from behind Ron’s shoulder, and he turns to see Theo and Daphne lounging in the doorway. 

“I believe we’ve won?” Theo continues, holding out a hand. He’s clutching a tattered-looking Gryffindor Quidditch pennant, and when he unfurls his fingers it can be heard squealing  _ “The Empire is defeated! The Empire is defeated!” _

“Ugh,” Pansy huffs, as she wriggles out of the small entranceway to the pillow fort and comes to sit beside Harry on the floor. “Can’t you shut that thing up?” 

“I’d love to,” Theo sighs, closing his hand around it, which helps a little. “Only, Draco did the enchantment, and he and Granger don’t yet appear to have emerged from the Room of Requirement so we’re a bit -”

“Hang on,” Ron says loudly, “Do you mean to say the reason that Film Club was cancelled last night was so that Hermione and  _ Malfoy  _ could -”

“Goodness Weasley, been eating your vitamix?” Pansy deadpans. “That was  _ remarkably  _ quick on the uptake by your standards.”

“Leave him alone,” Susan grumbles good-naturedly, and to Pansy’s credit she relents with no more than an eye-roll. “Had you really not noticed the two of them?” Susan asks Ron, snaking her arms around his waist.

“No,” he says, feeling himself starting to flush, “And why would I, anyway, it’s  _ Malfoy_, I wouldn’t have thought that -”

“Oh blibbering  _ humdingers _ ,” Luna exclaims, startling everyone else into silence.

“What is it?” Ginny asks, propping her chin on the remaining wall of the fort to peer at Luna, who has finally managed to unwrap her package. 

“Nothing,” she sighs. “Only this isn’t the film I thought I was buying.” She gives her shoulders a little shake, and then summons her usual, slightly unnerving, smile. “I guess we’ll just have to watch this instead.”

“You bought a film?” Harry asks, exchanging a sceptical glance with Dean. “From where?”

“eBay,” Luna says vaguely, now frowning at the back of the cassette box. “I guess I should have read the small print though, I think this is in  _ Czech_...”

“What’s eBay?” Blaise asks the obvious question before anyone else can. 

“It’s an auction website,” Dean supplies. When he’s met with continued blank looks he makes a frustrated gesture with his hand. “Muggles have this - this thing called the  _ internet_, right? Like phones, but for information, and - and I guess buying and selling stuff - and -”

“Luna,” Harry interrupts. “How on earth did you manage to buy a film from the  _ internet_?”

“What?” Luna looks up from her perusal of the box to blink innocently at him. “Like it’s hard?”

 

**oOo**

 

“So,” Neville asks tentatively, from where he’s sitting on one of the beanbags that have appeared to accommodate the ever-increasing membership of Film Club. “Do muggles only make films in Czech, or is this -”

“This is an exception,” Hermione says. “But it’s one that we’re very happy to make, since Luna’s managed to get hold of a film that’s new to all of us. Right everyone?” She directs the best part of her glare to Draco, who mimes sealing his mouth shut with his fingers. He can’t quite disguise the flash of amusement in his eyes, and Hermione makes sure to elbow him thoroughly in the ribs as she makes herself comfortable on the sofa beside him.

“Well I  _ wanted _ to buy  _ Cinderella_,” Luna says thoughtfully, as she removes the cassette from the box. “But allthefilmz77 sold me a Czech version instead. So I asked Jeeves -”

(“Who?” Draco murmurs to Hermione. “It really isn’t worth explaining,” she replies.)

“- and it does sound as though it’s very good. And - there!” She stands up, dusting her hands off before reaching for her wand. “Just needs a -”

“Luna are you sure that’s -”

“- translation charm!” Luna trills over Harry’s attempted protest, tapping her wand on the video player. 

Hermione had half-braced herself for the box to explode, but nothing seems to happen, and Luna settles herself on the beanbag next to Neville’s as the scene opens on a quaint european village, with the villagers chattering away in perfect English about their preparations for a royal visit of some sort.

“Well,” Draco’s lips are warm on her ear, and Hermione tries not to think about how warm they’d been on other parts of her. “I still say ten galleons she manages to break something before the beginning of term.”

Hermione eyes Luna, who is watching the screen with an expression of perfect serenity. “You’re on, Malfoy.”

“Hmm.” She can feel his chest rumbling against her arm, and it makes her imagination go to places that  _ really aren’t appropriate  _ in company. “If you’ll take the bet that easily I guess I’ll have to up the stakes.”

“Let me know when you think of something suitable,” she whispers back. “But right now I’m  _ trying _ to watch the film.”

 

**oOo**

 

“I just don’t understand why the prince didn’t recognise her,” Luna says. “It isn’t as though she looked very different in the hunter’s outfit, and that veil was practically see-through. Besides, he really  _ should  _ have understood the riddle much earlier than he did, it certainly wasn’t difficult.”

“You forget you’re subjected to riddles on a daily basis,” Harry smiles, nudging Luna’s shoulder affectionately with his toe. “Anyway, it happens a lot in muggle stories and films, that people don’t get recognised even when their disguises are terrible. There’s this character, Superman, who’s this like, incredibly powerful alien, but his alter-ego -”

“His  _ what-now?_” Theo scrunches up his nose, but Harry continues, undeterred.

“- is this farm-boy from Kansas who becomes a journalist, and his disguise is literally a pair of glasses.”

“Literally?” Draco asks drily. 

“Pretty much,” Hermione sighs.

“He has to go into a phonebox to change into his superhero costume,” Dean adds. “It’s awesome. I wanted to be him when I grew up.”

“I thought you wanted to be Alvin Martin,” Seamus says, laughing as Dean shoves him off the sofa onto the floor. 

“Well I thought Popelka’s disguises were better than just the balldress in the cartoon version of  _ Cinderella _ anyway,” Hermione says, trying to bring the conversation back on track as Dean and Seamus scuffle behind one of the sofas. “A lot of the Disney princesses are just...foils for the men in the film.”

“I thought you liked  _ Anastasia_?” Draco asks, clearly confused, but Hermione shakes her head impatiently.    


“She’s not actually a  _ Disney  _ princess. And the ones that are...well they’re all a bit...wet.”

“Literally, in Ariel’s case,” Harry says, grinning widely when Draco shoots him a glare, mouthing  _ Literally?  _

“Rotten Tomatoes says that this new  _ Mulan  _ one is supposed to be good,” Luna says, rolling onto her stomach to address Hermione. 

“What’s -” Ron starts.

“Internet,” Justin yawns. “Don’t ask.”

“She joins the Chinese army by pretending to be a boy,” Luna continues, as though they haven’t spoken. “So I guess it’s a bit like when Popelka is dressed as a hunter, and the prince doesn’t realise she’s a girl -”

“Ah, the old pretending to a boy trope,” Hermione grumbles. “What a classic. Just like when a girl takes off her glasses and  _ suddenly  _ everyone realises she’s beautiful.”

“I thought you said the glasses person was a man?” Pansy asks. “Or am I misinterpreting the whole Super- _man_ thing?”

“Representation is a nightmare,” Hermione huffs, subsiding into Draco’s shoulder. 

“There, there,” he smirks. Clearly he’s got no idea what he’s actually comforting her over, but Hermione finds that she doesn’t really mind. 

“Well at least Popelka had the upper hand pretty much the whole time,” Pansy says musingly. “I did enjoy it when she told the prince where to get off.”

“‘When hell freezes over, dickheads!’” Ginny laughs, leaning across Blaise to high-five Pansy. 

“What I want to know is where I can get a combined hat and scarf,” Harry says. “That thing looked  _ warm _ .”

“I can comfortably assure you that you are never getting one of those,” Theo pronounces flatly. His eyes flick to Pansy, who gives a firm nod. “It’s already offensive enough that you wear as much red as you  _ do_.”

“Oi,” Ron objects, “My mum knitted that jumper.”

“No one’s objecting to the jumpers, Ron,” Susan sighs, combing her fingers through his hair, though she catches Hermione’s eye with a hint of a smile. Susan herself is wearing a violently yellow version of the traditional Weasley Christmas present. Ron subsides, muttering darkly, but doesn’t press the point.

“Well,” Harry yawns. “I’d say that all round it was a fairly successful venture into the unknown.”

There are nods and murmurs of assent from around the room, before Justin pipes up, “Have you chosen a film for tomorrow?”

“Hermione?” Harry prompts. “Are we going with  _ The _ -”

“Surprise?” Hermione interrupts him. “Yes.” She shifts herself upright, ignoring Draco’s grunt of protest when she ‘accidentally’ elbows him again. “Since it’s the last night before term starts -”

“Merlin’s bollocks, Granger, must you remind us?” Theo groans.

“- we thought we’d finish Film Club with one of my and Harry’s favourites.”

“I thought we already watched your favourite film?” Draco says, low in her ear.

“Am I not allowed to have more than one?” Hermione replies, arching an eyebrow. She realises belatedly that she’s picked up the gesture from him, and feels herself blushing. 

“I’m not telling you!” Harry yelps from the other side of the room, where Theo appears to be holding his arms while Pansy points her wand at his feet. “You’ll never take me alive, do you even realise what  _ time  _ it is -”

“A watch doesn’t go with this outfit,” Pansy replies gleefully. “And stop trying to  _ distract  _ me, you know we have ways of making you -”

“Shut up!” Hermione yells. “He can’t tell you because I put a  _ Fidelius  _ charm on it.”

“The fuck, Granger?” Blaise says in the ensuing shocked silence. “That’s some serious shit.”

“Are you saying Film Club isn’t serious, Zabini?” There’s a note of challenge in Theo’s voice which is at odds with his wide grin. “As a founding member I can tell you that’s very unwise.”

“No way are you a founding member,” Ron scoffs. He looks at Hermione for confirmation, blinking in confusion when she shrugs. “Really?  _ Him_?”

“The history of Film Club is long and illustrious,” Theo proclaims with smug satisfaction. “It dates all the way back to the twenty-fifth of December, when I caught Potter and Granger skulking -”

“I have never skulked in my  _ life _ ,” Harry objects. 

“You’re right,” Theo nods. “ _ Way _ too subtle. I caught Potter and Granger  _ flailing _ around -”

“You know what?” Ron sighs, getting to his feet. “Forget I asked. I’m going to bed. Suse?”

“Yeah,” Susan agrees, stretching her arms over her head. “I want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for this mysterious and incredibly secret  _ final film _ tomorrow.”

“Today,” Luna corrects her. “It’s two in the morning, so technically tomorrow is today, if you’re looking at it from the point of view of linear time. If not then -”

“Right, well, by any measure I’d say it’s bedtime,” Blaise says, bending to grab Luna by the waist and throwing her over his shoulder. “Milady?” He somehow manages to sketch a bow towards Ginny, who rises from the sofa with a smirk.

“Milord.” 

“What the fuck…” Ron whispers, as the three of them quit the room together. 

“Film Club,” Theo shrugs, as though this, in itself, is explanation enough.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEODORE IS NOTT WRONG (thank you for tolerating Sally's joke). Hope you enjoyed this? Sorry for the lengthy break, I wrote a version of the chapter that just didn't work AT ALL and it's been a bit of a struggle to fix. 
> 
> If you haven't already seen it, I'd highly recommend watching Tři oříšky pro Popelku - it's very charming, and the whole thing is on YouTube. Thank you to tumblr follower rowanofferelden for the recommendation. 
> 
> There's a number of allusions to other films/tv shows in this chapter, so well done if you spotted them. And any guesses as to what Harry and Hermione's super-secret favourite film might be? (spoiler: it's my favourite family film)
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!


	15. The Princess Bride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorrysorrysorry for the delay I am the worst thank you for your patience.

Harry corners her after lunch, communicating through a mixture of eyebrows and complicated hand gestures that he wants to have a chat, and Hermione reluctantly sends Draco off with a grinning Theo.

“Don’t get into trouble!” she calls after them, and Draco spins on his heel to treat her to a withering look.

“You’re the one absconding with the Detention King, Granger,” he responds, before he and Theo disappear down the passageway that leads to the dungeons and the Slytherin common room.

“Is that…” Hermione frowns at Harry as he links his arm through hers. “Is that a thing?”

He shrugs, the gesture as impossibly expressive as Harry’s shrugs always are. “Theo maintains that I’ve had more detentions than all the Slytherins put together.”

“That can’t be…” Hermione falls quiet as she realises that actually, it _can_ be right. Harry has always been singularly talented at earning himself detentions, whether warranted or not.

“Here,” he says, handing her a steaming mug of tea as they walk out of the main doors and into the sparkling grounds.

“Where did this come from?” Hermione sniffs carefully at the tea before taking a tentative sip.

“Stasis and shrinking charms,” Harry says. “I’ve been practicing, like you told me to. You know, get the grades and all that. But on the subject of Charms -”

“Oh,” Hermione groans. “Agh.”

“- when exactly did you cast this _Fidelius_ charm?”

Harry’s eyes glitter behind his glasses, and Hermione hears herself make a strangled noise as she leans her head on his shoulder. “I panicked! Oh my god, I’m the actual literal worst.”

“ _Literal_.” She can hear the smirk in his voice, and rolls her eyes.

“This stupid _film club_ thing! I just wanted it to be a surprise, but now I’ve built it up too much, haven’t I?”

“I’d say it was actually a fairly minor overreaction, by your standards.” Harry dances out of reach when Hermione swats at him, laughing as he slops tea in the melting snow before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and burying his grin in her hair. “There’s a chance that you’ve created expectations of unusual size.” His voice is muffled but Hermione can still hear the laugh in it. “But then there _is_ a reason we both happen to agree it’s one of the best films ever made.”

“I just really want Draco to like it,” she whispers. “Is that stupid? Shit, he’ll probably -“

“He’s a fool if he doesn’t enjoy it just because you do.” Harry squeezes her shoulders tightly before releasing her, grabbing her hand to swing it back and forth as they continue their walk in the direction of the lake. “‘Wuv, _twue_ wuv,’” he cries, startling a couple of grindylows splashing in the shallows. The grey-scaled creatures hiss at the pair of them before diving to somewhere deeper and quieter.

“Shut up!” Hermione yanks Harry’s arm so that he’s forced to spin on his heel to keep his balance, chuckling  the whole time. “It’s hardly lo- _that_ \- and anyway, you’re one to talk with your little foursome.”

“Ah.” Harry sobers with impressive speed. “Yes, well, that is to say, I was going to - um -“

“Twat.” Hermione smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “I don’t care who you’re sleeping with as long as you’re happy. Which you are,” she frowns up at him, abruptly concerned, “right?”

“Which I am,” Harry nods. “Not quite as disgustingly so as Ron, but I feel like - I feel like I fit, if that makes sense?”

“Yeah,” Hermione says softly, thinking of the bright mischief that Pansy brings out of him; the way that he and Theo smile at one another when they think nobody else is looking. The way that Daphne had fallen asleep with her head on Harry’s shoulder last night, and he’d leaned his cheek against it so comfortably. “It does, actually.”

_“Your hair is a nightmare,” Draco had muttered to her in the early hours of the morning, making a show of spitting it out of his mouth. “Honestly, woman, are you trying to asphyxiate me in my sleep?”_

_“It would be a service to the world,” she’d replied, turning over to narrow her eyes at him. To her surprise he’d met her gaze, leaning in to press his forehead against hers._

_“It probably wouldn’t be the worst way to go,” he said, very quietly, his arm sneaking around her waist to hold her tight against him._

_“Ugh,” Hermione grinned at him. “Disgusting.”_

She can feel herself smiling at the memory, the same way that Harry smiles when she ribs him about Theo.

“How did this happen?” she asks him, as they resume their aimless meandering towards the Whomping Willow.

“What?” he replies. “How did an innocent desire to watch a film together become some sort of secret society presided over by a deranged Slytherin?”

“Something along those lines.” Hermione can’t help but laugh at this, the description of Theo worryingly apt.

“You know,” Harry says thoughtfully, “I think really all we needed was an excuse to let the boundaries down.” He squints into the low sunlight for a moment before half-smiling at Hermione. “It just takes so much effort to keep hating one another.”

“So it’s easier to just start shagging instead?”

“Hermione Granger!” Harry clasps a hand to his heart, his face turning slack with exaggerated dismay. “So _crude,_ I am shocked and appalled that our esteemed Head Girl, I’ve never heard the -”

“I take it back,” Hermione laughs, shoving Harry so that he nearly tumbles into a snowdrift. “I’m not the worst, _you_ are.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry says, pushing himself out of the snow and lurching forward to grab Hermione’s arm. “Big mistake. _Huge_.”

“Harry no - wait -” She shrieks as he stuffs snow down the back of her jumper, trying, without success, to wriggle free. “I cannot believe you just did that!”

“Believe it,” Harry scrambles away from her attempt to retaliate and trips over a rock that had been hidden by the snow. “Ouch!”

“Aww,” Hermione grins. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“You mock my pain!” Harry scowls playfully.

“Life is pain,” Hermione sniffs, extending a hand to help him up. “Anyone who says differently is - _ow_! Harry!”

**oOo**

“So this is your favourite film?” Blaise looks up from the box, scepticism writ large across his handsome features.

“Being nice.” Ginny leans across him to grab the box and throw it back to Hermione. “Do you remember when we talked about you trying it?”

“I remember talking about it,” Blaise concedes. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”

“Do you need us to remind you what you agreed to?” Luna’s smile is as winsome as ever, but there’s a flash of something devious in her eyes, and Draco makes a note to himself never to cross her as he sees Blaise’s composure waver for just a moment.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says, and to his credit his voice only sounds slightly strangled. Draco catches himself wondering just what these two girls have got on his friend, before he decides that actually, he really doesn’t want to know. “You know what, Granger?” Blaise continues, “I’m sure this film is brilliant, and I’m really excited to watch it with you.”

“Okayyy,” Hermione shoots a look at Potter, who is currently grinning at Ginny. “Well, we saved it deliberately, because it’s a bit of an acquired taste -”

“- as are many things, Granger,” Theo interrupts her, and though Hermione rolls her eyes she can’t hide the hint of a smile.

“- and you sort of have to, suspend your disbelief a bit, because it’s silly, and, well -”

“Stop ruining it for everyone,” Pansy sighs, making a show of examining her fingernails. “You’ve got a captive audience, Granger, why are you squandering it?”

“Yes,” Hermione frowns, looking slightly shell-shocked. “Right. Well. Okay then.”

“Hermione,” Potter claps his hand over Pansy’s open mouth and raises his eyebrows expectantly. Draco’s impressed that he hasn’t been bitten yet. “The film?”

“Right, of course, yes.”

She pops the cassette into the player, and hops back, pressing her face into Draco’s shoulder, where he frowns down at her. “I thought you love this film?”

“I do,” she mumbles, “But I think I’ve gone a bit over the top with telling everyone.”

“Too late now,” Draco shrugs. “I’ll try not to hate it too much.”

He manages to catch her hand before she can jab him in the side, tucking her more firmly against him as a roaring lion appears onscreen.

“I like the lion,” Weasley says inanely from the other side of the room.

“You know it isn’t part of the actual film, right?” Potter asks.

“Yeah,” Weasley says, “But it’s cool anyway.”

“You’re a horrifying cliché,” Blaise drawls, yelping as either Ginny or Luna does… something to him, before the title appears in blue writing.

“ _The Princess Bride_ ,” Neville reads. “So is she a princess first? Or a bride? I don’t -”

His voice trails away as there’s a sound of childish coughing, and then the screen lights up in green and red and a strange beeping starts.

“Granger,” Draco says carefully. “When you said you were worried -”

“Shut up and watch the film, Draco.” Theo’s voice carries from the other side of the darkened room. “Potter’s promised me it’s going to be worth it, and I’ll be furious if you make me miss any of it.”

**oOo**

“Well.” Theo pushes himself upright, and looks over at Potter. He’s watching him with a smile that barely betrays his nervousness, but if you know his tells (and Theo’s a quick study) it’s easy to see that he’s worried about what the reaction to the film will be. “I guess it could have been worse.” He hears Granger make a soft sound of alarm, and smiles wickedly. “I mean, I was genuinely concerned that it was going to be all _kissing_.”

Potter’s face lights up, and Theo ignores how good it feels to know that _he’s_ done that. “Well thank goodness for that, because I think if you hadn’t then Hermione would literally -”

“You keep using that word,” Draco drawls. “I don’t think it means what you think -”

“Oh my gosh you LIKED it!” Granger almost squeals, leaning in to kiss a shocked-looking Draco, who apparently hadn’t quite anticipated what the response to him remembering a throwaway line would be.

“Gross.” Pansy wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Could you two like, maybe get a room or -”

“It’s one in the morning,” Weasley says. “We should probably all think about going to bed before -”

“Ugh,” Blaise groans. “He doesn’t even _go_ here, why should we listen to Captain Sensible any-”

“Be nice!” Luna upbraids him, and Blaise winces, but falls quiet.

“Well,” Granger says into the ensuing silence. “I guess… I guess that’s it.”

“The end of an era,” Potter nods, getting to his feet. “Well, it’s been a pleasure getting to know you all -”

“Some better than others,” Draco says, none-too-quietly.

“- and I think that we can all agree -” Potter throws Draco a warning look at the same time that the blond wizard flinches away from where Theo guesses Granger has just pinched him. “That Film Club has been a rousing success.”

“Which was obviously intentional on our part,” Granger says. “And not at all an accident precipitated by Theo catching us unawares on Christmas night.”

“Yes,” Theo nods sagely. “That.”

**oOo**

“Were you really looking for the Pensieve at Christmas?” Draco asks quietly. Granger’s terrifying force of will has managed to persuade everyone that a relatively early night is, in fact, in order before term begins again tomorrow, and so now it’s just him and Theo, sitting up with a last firewhiskey to toast the end of the Christmas holidays.

“Granger tell you about that, did she?” Theo smirks. “I wondered if she would. And in answer to the question, yes, I really was.”

“And that’s all?” Draco presses. He isn’t sure why, but he has a nagging feeling of suspicion about the whole thing. He knows Theo, probably better than anyone. He _knows_ that he isn’t one to get caught doing something unless he wants to be.

“What are you asking, Draco darling?” Theo shifts in his chair, until he’s facing Draco fully, leaning one elbow on the velvet-upholstered arm. “You surely can’t mean to suggest that I might have had an ulterior motive? Some nefarious purpose to sneaking about the castle late at night?”

Draco narrows his eyes. “Did you?” he prompts.

Theo takes a sip of his whiskey, and smiles broadly. “Do you remember when we were kids?”

“Do I -” Draco sighs, knowing that it’s usually best to follow Theo’s tangents. “I remember being a child, yes. You might have to be a little more specific.”

“Fine,” Theo sits up and reaches for the bottle of firewhiskey, offering it to Draco first, who holds out his glass. “To be more precise, do you remember the year that your grandfather tried to reinstate the Lord of Misrule?”

Draco splutters on his refill. “You didn’t.”

“I _did_ , actually,” Theo smiles, raising his glass in a toast. “Twelve days of mischief and mayhem, presided over by a benevolent knave, who -”

Realising that his mouth is hanging slightly open, Draco closes it, hearing his teeth click together. “You absolute -”

“Genius?” Theo nods, “It’s been said before, and I’m sure it will be -”

“ _Arsehole_ ,” Draco grinds out. “You don’t fuck about with magic like that, or have you forgotten what happened when Grandfather -”

“Calm down.” Theo rolls his eyes. “You can’t say you aren’t pleased about how it turned out.”

Draco struggles for a moment between acknowledging this rather salient point and telling Theo that he’s a nightmare made flesh. “Never, ever, do something like that again without at least _telling_ me,” he eventually manages.

Theo raises his glass, and grins. “As you wish, mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue, because just in case you haven't worked it out yet, I am trash. Thank you, as ever, for reading.


	16. Epilogue: Serendipity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a mish-mash, because I suddenly realised there were about twenty films I wanted to cram into this. But I hope you enjoy the ending.

 

**_22nd December 2013_ **

When the Floo chimes Hermione ignores it. Draco’s parents have taken Sagitta and Scorpius present-shopping and she’s using the opportunity to try and ice the Christmas cake. Sagitta has requested, very firmly, that it be topped with an Antipodean Opaleye, and Hermione is up to her ears in glittering white fondant. She’s utterly determined that this year she isn’t going to break and call Molly in tears, begging for help, but it’s looking like it could be a close-run thing.

“Get that, would you?” she calls to Draco, hoping that he’ll hear the edge of panic in her voice, and she’s rewarded a few moments later by the sound of Theo and Harry’s voices echoing through the hall from the sitting room.

A few minutes later, just as she’s putting the finishing touches to the cake, Harry’s head appears around the kitchen door. “Am I allowed to be in here?” he asks, giving her a hopeful smile. Hermione sighs, and nods, letting her wand drop. The dragon, miraculously, stays upright, though its wings droop slightly.

“Wow!” Harry leans in to examine it. “This looks incredible, Hermione. Pansy gave up completely this year and just ordered one from Madam Puddifoot’s.”

“Clearly Pansy doesn’t have to spend Christmas with Narcissa Malfoy,” Hermione says wryly. “You really think it’ll do?”

“I really do. I’ve never seen such a perfect icing pegasus.”

Hermione jerks upright in horror. “It’s supposed to be a -”

“I’m kidding!” Harry puts his hands up in mock-surrender. “Obviously I can tell it’s a Peryton.”

He laughs when Hermione hurls her apron at him, catching it easily and tossing it over the back of the chair. “Come and have some tea,” he tells her, holding out a hand and practically dragging her through to the sitting room, where their elf, Coleporter (Hermione’s suggestion that the creature look to great historical figures for inspiration in naming himself had had unforeseen results), has just finished laying out some cakes and finger sandwiches.

“Is Mistress finished in the kitchen now?” he asks tentatively.

“Yes,” Hermione sinks gratefully onto the sofa. “I’d be really grateful if you could clean it up, but please don’t touch the cake.”

“Yes Mistress.” The elf sweeps a bow, and disappears with a sharp _crack!_

“Mm.” Draco sits down beside her, tucking an arm around her shoulders, and promptly licks her cheek. Hermione squirms and he laughs, tightening his hold on her. “You’ve got a little something - is that icing sugar?”

“Vile,” Theo remarks, sipping his tea. “If the two of you could try and keep your hands off one another for more than ten seconds, Potter and I wanted to discuss something with you.”

“I would like to make it very clear -” Harry shoots Theo a smirk “- that this was absolutely not my idea. That being said, I have been persuaded of its merits as a proposal, and am therefore willing to be co-”

“Potter. Let the man talk,” Draco sighs

“You see, this is why you’re my best friend in the world,” Theo grins. “Anyway, I was thinking that the kids are old enough now for -”

Hermione sits bolt upright. “No way.”

“But you didn’t even know what I was going to -”

“We are not playing Lord of Misrule, Theodore Nott, I have enough children, _thank you_.”

Theo answers her with an expression of pure delight. “Come on. It’s _always_ fun.”

“It’s always a disaster,” Draco drawls, leaning back into the sofa and reaching for his copy of _The Lancet_. Theo and Hermione have argued every time he’s wanted to reintroduce the spell, and she’s always ended up losing. She’d hoped that the twelve days of revelry seven years ago, which had resulted in five pregnancies, had put an end to things, but apparently this was wishful thinking.

“Deterministic chaos is _not_ disaster, my flaxen friend,” Theo crows. “Come on! It’s the holidays, we should put our trust in magic to deliver us to the best possible new year.”

“I have enough chaos with two small children,” Hermione huffs. “I hardly think that introducing ritual magic to the equation is a good -”

“The kids will love it,” Harry says. “A different party every night? Just think! They’ll be so tired by the end of it that you’ll have peace until the end of January.”

“Is that the argument you tried on Pansy?” Draco lowers his journal to smirk at Harry. “Because I can imagine the idea of being spared the unholy terror of Monty’s energies for a month would be very effective.”

“My son is not an _unholy terror_ ,” Harry corrects him. “He is _enthusiastic_.”

“He very _enthusiastically_ spelled Sagitta’s hair blue two weeks ago.”

“Actually,” Theo frowns, “I think that was probably Calix. He’s having a blue phase at the moment.”

“Can neither of you control your children?” Hermione asks helplessly.

“Free-range parenting,” Theo shrugs. “It’s all the rage to let your children express their magic as they choose these days, Granger. They’ve got to be who they are, you know, or haven’t you read this month’s _Quibbler_?”

“I am not about to get into a parenting debate with you,” Hermione says. “And certainly not on the basis of an article that Luna -”

“Actually we’re thinking about applying for Ministry sponsorship for a nationwide study on the effects,” Draco says thoughtfully, eyes still glued to whatever article it is that Healer Pye has recommended to him.

“What?!”

“Say what again,” Theo smiles. “I dare you, I double -”

“Don’t start.” Hermione raises a warning finger. “And if the only reason you came over was to raise my blood pressure then -”

“Hey!” Theo makes a face of injured innocence, spreading his arms wide enough that he nearly knocks Harry’s teacup out of his hand. “If I show up at your door, chances are you did something to bring me there.”

“Merlin's beard, Theo, are you trying to -”

“What Theo is _trying_ to communicate,” Harry says, carefully setting down his teacup out of range of Theo’s expressive body language before he places his hand on the other man’s knee, “is that we thought we could reintroduce a film club element. Stuff the kids would like, of course, but -”

“I still think it’s a terrible idea,” Hermione says darkly.

“Yeah, well, you know, that’s just like, your opinion, man.” Theo gives a yelp when Hermione hits him with a light stinging hex, but it does nothing to shrink his smile, and Hermione scowls, hating feeling like a spoilsport.

“It’s a notoriously unpredictable piece of magic, and I really don’t think we should be exposing our children to it. Not to mention that you can’t even know whether the spell’s taken until stuff starts going haywire so -”

“So think of it as like a Schrodinger’s cat-style, exciting mystery.”

“That's hardly a persuasive -” Hermione pauses, blinking in confusion. “How do you know about Schrodinger’s cat?”

“It’s interesting.” Theo shrugs. “I’m interested in things that are interesting.”

Harry gives him an exasperated look. “Sometimes I’m interested in killing you.”

“Put me in a box with some radioactive poison,” Theo grins. “Keep the thrill alive.”

“Mm,” Draco hums, turning a page with every appearance of nonchalance. “Schrodinger’s Twat.”

Harry barks a laugh and Theo throws Draco a glare that goes unnoticed. “Right. Yes. Well, I think we’re getting away from the point, which is that we need to work out when we’re doing the spell -”

“We’re not doing it!” Hermione yells. “I don’t know how many times I have to say it!”

“Granger, I would hate to do it without your permission, but I am -”

“Guys,” Harry interjects with a laugh, “Please, no fighting in the war room!”

“You promised.” Hermione ignores him, slamming her hand down hard enough on the coffee table to make all three men jump at the noise. “You promised Draco you would _never_ do it on your own again.”

“Granger, you wound!” Theo places his hand over his heart. “As you well know, all I have in the world is my balls and my word, and I don’t break them for no one. So Harry, Pans and Daphne are all in, which I think you’ll find means that -”

“They are?” Draco finally sets the magazine aside and sits up, sliding his hand around Hermione’s hip and drawing her against his side. She groans.

“You want to do this, don’t you?”

“Well,” his breath tickles her ear when he turns to press a kiss to her jaw. “You have to admit, it’s always been rather fun.”

“Deterministic chaos,” Theo nods. “Can we count you in?”

“Ugh.” Hermione shakes her head. “If anyone dies, I want it on the record that I stated my objection -”

“Yes!” Theo leaps to his feet. “We’re puttin’ the band back together!”

“We’re on a mission from God!” Harry yells, jumping up and kissing Theo soundly. “Better get home and tell the girls,” he says when they both come up for air, tugging Theo towards the fireplace. “See you on the 25th!”

As soon as they’ve gone, Hermione drops her head into her hands, ignoring Draco’s laughter next to her. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know about that,” he says, pulling her hands down and lifting her chin. “I’d say it’s got a pretty solid hit-rate.”

Hermione leans into his touch, bumping her nose against his. “I like the Film Club idea, at least,” she sighs. “Theo’s right, the kids are old enough to -”

“Where. Is. My. Supersuit?” Draco interrupts her, smiling, and Hermione takes the opportunity to nip lightly at his bottom lip.

“I hope your mango’s ripe,” she whispers, tilting her head. “Because we’ve got a couple of hours before the kids are home, so...”

Draco rolls his eyes, and presses her back into the sofa. “You are a strange and interesting woman,” he breathes, right before he kisses her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience, and um...Happy Easter? I guess?? Much love, as ever.  
> PS: points if you get all the film references in this last one.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! xxx


End file.
